


somehow I'll still love you more

by ceruleanstorm



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/F, Fankids - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Labor and Delivery, Natural Disasters, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Shadow Weaver is the Worst, Worldbuilding, a bow and catra friendship, adora & catra & melog & swift wind are a little family, mental health, my own catradora fankid (not finn), working through issues in therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 92,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanstorm/pseuds/ceruleanstorm
Summary: “Okay, something is wrong.”“Nothing’s wrong,” Catra declares with force, holding the two halves of Bow’s now shattered tracker pad, before standing to eye the trickle of fluid now staining her pants, “I just need one of you to find me another way to communicate with the Alliance and a change of clothes because I think my water just broke.”Bow’s reaction as pure stress overcomes his entire being might’ve been hysterical if not for the growing stakes, “You’re what just broke? Are you telling me you’re in labor?”“No Bow, I’ve just been having regular contractions for the last sixteen hours but I’m sure the midwife will think that’s completely normal- yes, I’m in labor, King Dumbass!”~When a surge of magical energy disrupting multiple Etherian kingdoms calls for She-Ra on the front lines and Catra in the command center, the two are separated when Catra goes into labor.A baby fic/character study that explores Adora and Catra’s separate and intertwined paths from daughter to mother.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Mermista/Sea Hawk (She-Ra), Netossa/Spinnerella (She-Ra), Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra)
Comments: 208
Kudos: 986





	1. wonder will we ever meet

**Author's Note:**

> So. 
> 
> This is a fic that is a great example of the weird lives that fics sometimes take on. I've gone from extremely excited to write this fic, confident in the story it was telling and confident in my ability to do every part of it justice.... to feeling incredibly out of bounds. No other fic I've tried to write has caused me such turbulence trying to make a decision for. 
> 
> It's been a really bumpy take off on my side of things. As I write the author's note for this update on this late July Sunday, I have written about 23k words, and knowing me, you know that's about four scenes. Because I have the entire fic planned out, I thought it was time to bring it to and see if it takes off.
> 
> If the reaction is super great, if I get good feedback, I'll see this through to the end. Because I'm really proud of the ending, and if you guys want me to write it, I will. If not, I'll move on to the next project.
> 
> Anyways few other things beside that- I'll come clean and say this is not a story written for Noelle's fanbaby, Finn. I know they are rightfully a fan favorite, but I already had my own kitra that I built this story around and I am still very much attached to that baby, so that's what I'm gonna roll with! 
> 
> And lastly this fic isn't just a baby fic, but also really really long character study. i wanted to bring my own take about Shadow Weaver's arc in Season five and it's hard to explain without the story to back me up, but I believe that any story about Catra and Adora's future has to take into account the past.
> 
> okay, well, that's about all I have to say. Regardless of how this fic does, I'm proud of it. 
> 
> enjoy! <3

_“Stop it, it’s gonna kill you!”_

_“It’s too late for me, but you- this is only the beginning for you. I’m so proud of you, Catra.”_

_

**_Age 7; The Fright Zone_ **

Life begins, and ends, with the Horde.

That’s what Adora would tell any Superior Officer that asked her anyway. Or if Shadow Weaver pulled her out of early morning drills to walk up and down the far-reaching halls of the Fright Zone, questioning her over what she learned in academy the day prior, what she was doing to stay at the top of her class, what she was doing in the present to prepare herself for her future. The future where Adora is destined to bring the Horde to it’s glorious and long awaited freedom to the tyranny of the princess’ rule. The future Adora is destined to bring the light of militant authoritarianism to the shadows of matriarchal reign.

And whenever Shadow Weaver would ask her, “Adora, will you be ready to do whatever it takes to be the leader the Horde needs you to be?” Adora would nod with righteous determination. Yes, she was young, less qualified and competent than the older cadets, but there was not a single doubt in her mind that she would do anything for the soldiers around her, for the Horde that was her home. This is where her bed was, and where she ate her favorite meal: gray slop, _way_ better than the brown kind. This is where her friends were, too. Lonnie, Kyle, Rogelio, and her best friend in the entire world, Catra! 

The Fright Zone had already done so much for Adora by sheltering her from the evil grasp of the princesses and their greatest weapon of ultimate torture, magic; Shadow Weaver was showing her how she could give all that was given to her and even _more_ back to the Horde. 

“Good,” Shadow Weaver would always answer, folding her fingers together and directing her gaze out the window. With her face always hidden behind that mask of stone, Adora had to watch extra closely for signs of her approval. No reprimand followed and her fingers stayed laced, her voice filling Adora’s ears as they stared out the window at the vast horizon of Hordak’s stronghold. “I can feel it, Adora, your power. You’re much more special than any other cadet I’ve trained.”

Comments like this would always bring a slight smile to Adora’s reflection. “But power does not come without price. You have a duty to use your power for the greater good, no matter the sacrifice. Do you hear me, Adora?”

“I-I hear you.” Adora gulped and nodded. She never could see Shadow Weaver’s eyes, never saw the gaze behind those gaping holes of white, but the heat of her stare always left Adora with goosebumps running up her arms. “I’ll do it. I’ll do _whatever_ I have to for the Horde!”

“Good girl. You have such a bright future ahead of you. Now, run along. You’re needed elsewhere.” Unfolding her hands, Shadow Weaver waved her fingers at Adora, motioning for her to leave her side.

No! Adora didn’t want to go back to the others, not yet at least. Why wouldn’t Shadow Weaver tell her more, teach her more? She was ready, she could do it! 

Hadn’t Adora proved that yet?

“But-” Adora would always protest and Shadow Weaver would always turn back to her with an invisible sneer that made her recoil like she was about to be striked in the middle of a training sim.

“No buts. No questions. _Do_ as I ask.”

“Yes- yes, ma’am.”

Adora wanted that future she and Shadow Weaver always talked about. She wanted to win the war and free all the kingdoms Etheria from magic in Hordak’s name. And she wanted to be good. Shadow Weaver loved her whenever she was good. 

So, she didn’t ask any questions, choosing rather not to wonder but to act, to quell her curiosity and push down her doubt. Adora made sure that whenever Shadow Weaver was looking, there was nothing in her eyes but the routine of ambition exemplified by the superior cadets around her that proved that Adora could handle _anything,_ that she had what it took to be the fastest, the smartest, the most obedient soldier among the ranks. 

But Shadow Weaver wasn’t always watching, or so Adora thought.

“Hey, slow down! You’re gonna get ahead of me!”

“Don’t be such a slow poke, then!”

“Catra!” Adora hissed, pumping her arms harder like Force Captain Octavia had shown her during drills that week to keep up. Above her, Catra took to the exposed pipes hanging from the ceiling, swinging her arms out and throwing her body to and from each one, whacking Adora’s face with her tail every few meters just to rub it in. “ _I’m_ the one who found it, I should get to show you!”

Her laughing ringing throughout the metal interior, Catra teased “Yeah, but you said it was in the Medbay! So now _I_ get to find it!” 

“How are you,” Adora’s shoes skidded to a halt in front of the closed MedBay door and she rested her hands on her knees, panting. Catra landed on all fours beside her, “how are you gonna know what it is? I didn’t- I didn’t tell you.”

“Can’t be that hard to figure out. You’re bad at acting surprised, that’s why you always ruin ‘em.” shrugged Catra, using her claws to bash out the entry code (Force Captains never tried to hide the code whenever they entered the secured areas off limits to younger cadets, so it was never hard to memorize their movements, even from the other side of the hall) into the keypad by the door. It opened with a _swish!_

“Hey!”

“C’mon!”

Grabbing Adora by the arm, Catra pulled them both into the elongated room the Horde used to treat wounded soldiers and cadets. The lights came on when they entered, illuminating the standard issue cots lined opposite walls and the stands of plastic and metal tubes that were used to monitor soldiers’ “vitals.” Adora’s shoulder brushed against one of the carts that held bandages, splints, basic antibiotics, and bottles of alcohol for cleaning open wounds. No one occupied the beds- not since the Horde’s victory against the insurgents at Alwyn- and no superior officers were in the room, which gave Adora an open path to straight to what she’d snuck Catra in to see.

“This way!” she whispered to Catra, too overwhelmed with excitement to remember their earlier competition, and pulled her towards the farthest end of the room where a cot had been replaced by a small metal cart topped with a basket made of plastic.

Reaching the cart, Adora leaned up on her tiptoes. _Good, it’s still here!_ she gloated, inwardly. If she had dragged Catra out of their barrack past Shadow Weaver’s curfew and then her discovery was gone, Catra would never let her live it down! 

“ _What_ is it?” Catra, having assumed a similar position on the cart next to Adora, squinted at the sight. “We snuck out just to see a blob?”

“It’s not a blob! Well, I don’t think it’s a blob.” Adora frowned at Catra before turning back to the basket’s content.

Catra’s tail flicked the blob right in the center, and the blobbed stirred within the confines of it's blanket. The same type of blanket Catra shared with Adora every night. “It’s a blob.”

“I think it looks like a person. See,” Adora reached down to poke the blob and was surprised when her finger met a surface soft as skin, “it has a nose, and eyelids, and a mouth.” Mouth was an educated guess. Where Adora thought a mouth was supposed to go- under the nose- there was a little ring of rubber that the blob’s cheeks rose and fell around. 

“Pfft, people aren’t this small.” scoffed Catra. 

“Maybe there are people this small! Somewhere on Etheria, maybe there’s a _whole_ kingdom of them!” Adora whispered with excitement, jabbing Catra in the ribcage and lighting up when she snickered.

“Oh, they’ll definitely be easy to conquer then!” Catra’s gold and blue eyes glittered with glee and she jumped down off the cart, “We’ll barge in on our tanks and be like, ‘Where’s your leader, _blobs?_ ’” and then they’ll just like, bring a blob out!”

Adora followed Catra’s movements, throwing her arms wide and jutting out her chin, “We’re taking your kingdom, blob! In the name of the Horde! You’re Lord Hordak’s blobs now.”

“Ha!” Catra squeaked. She shoved Adora’s shoulder before tiptoeing back to the basket. “That’s not gonna be much of a fight, you know. Pretty boring when your opponent is always sleeping.”

“Hmm? Maybe it has magic?” Adora came back to look at the sleeping blob and Catra stuck her tongue out, gagging right in her face.

“Gross!”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Why would Lord Hordak keep a _magic_ blob in the Medbay? Magic’s too dangerous to have near wounded soldiers!” Frowning, Catra stuck a clawed finger out, poked the blob right in its maybe-nose, and recoiled, waiting for a burst of magical light. Nothing came from the blob. Nothing, except a tiny grunt and squeak around the little piece of rubber.

“It’s probably not magic then,” decided Adora, “Lord Hordak wouldn’t do something that evil to his soldiers.”

The end of Catra’s tail wrapped around Adora’s wrist. “How’d you even find this blob anyway?” 

“Remember when Kyle fell off that pile of rubber mats today after the defense training sim?” Adora said, smiling when Catra made a face at the mention of Kyle, “And then he told Force Captain Gorgon that he hurt his wrist so Force Captain Gorgon made me and Rogelio take him to the Medbay to have it checked out?”

“Yeah, you guys took _forever,_ and left me alone with Shadow Weaver.”

“You had Lonnie! Ugh, nevermind.” Catra made another face and Adora turned back to the blob, her arms crossed “When the nurse on duty was wrapping Kyle’s wrist, Rogelio found Blob and showed me.”

“And it didn’t do anything… magic, when you were here earlier?” asked the other girl, raising an eyebrow.

Adora shook her head, “No- well, the nurse guy had to stop working on Kyle because the blob got really stinky. But I don’t think that was magic.” 

“Yeah, magic isn’t really stinky, it’s zappy.” Catra frowned again. “And it hurts, _a lot._ You’re the stinky one.” she said, kicking Adora in the leg.

“Hey! I’m not stinky! You’re- _you’re_ stinky!” 

“Not as stinky as _you_ \- hey, what was that noise?” Catra stopped her teasing, ears flying up and eyes flying wide open, before backing into Adora and stepping on her foot. But when Adora looked around, she didn’t see or hear whatever Catra was talking about.

“What noise?” grumbled Adora. It wasn’t a secret that Adora didn’t like when Catra could see or hear things that Adora couldn’t, because of her bigger ears, better eyes, sharper nose, physical qualities Adora didn’t have and was _always_ having to make up for during training sims. A force of heat traveled up her windpipe and left a lump sitting in her throat.

 _“Your jealousy of Catra holds you back,”_ Adora could hear Shadow Weaver’s words ringing in her head from their last lesson together when she told her mentor about this uncomfortable feeling, _“You cannot let her weigh you down with unnecessary sentiments. You’re focusing on what Catra has that you don’t- not on how to beat her.”_

“Someone’s coming!” All of Catra’s fur stood on end like she’d been electrified, her claws digging into the fabric of Adora’s shirt. Adora, watching the door they’d left open become overshadowed before her eyes, grabbed onto Catra’s hand. “Shadow Weaver- it’s Shadow Weaver!” 

Adora let out a small gasp of panic. If Shadow Weaver found them out of their bunk it was at least two weeks latrine duty and five extra laps around the entire compound- and they were in the dead of summer!- every night for a whole month for the both of them. Their mentor would also suspend her and Adora’s talks for no less than three days. In place of their walks and talks, she would take up that time and spend it instead with Catra, and Catra would come back twitching, clumps falling out of her mane, screaming and scratching at Adora everytime she asked if Catra was okay. 

If Shadow Weaver found them out of their bunk, out of the barrack, _and_ in a forbidden area… Adora didn’t have to think about what she was doing to do it. 

Grabbing Catra by the shoulders, Adora shoved her to the floor- dodging Catra’s immediate reaction to go for her eyes with her claws like she always did- and pushed her across the floor until most of her body was under the nearest cot. “What’re you _doing?_ ” Catra hissed at her.

“Hide!” Adora whispered back. She looked over her shoulder, scanning the room like Octavia had trained her to, for another hiding place she belly-crawl to. If only she was as fast as Catra was! Then there was _no_ way Shadow Weaver would catch her out of bed. 

_Behind the cart!_ The sounds of Catra scuffling to get further under the cot echoed in Adora’s ears as she dropped to her stomach to move behind the blob’s basket, but right when her knees hit the concrete-

“Adora,” Shadow Weaver’s voice made her jump. “You’re out of bed, past curfew.”

 _Hmm,_ Adora thought to herself, her blood pumping in her ears the loudest noise in the whole word when she stood up, _she doesn’t_ sound _angry._

And Adora knew what Shadow Weaver sounded like angry. 

Did she look angry? Adora looked up to the blank face of the mask, her eyes scanning for that black sea of shadows that was always a sign of the discipline to follow, but there was nothing there but gray floor. _Guess not._

“Shadow Weaver, I-” 

“What is it that it’s so intriguing that you would be pressed to sneak into an area _off_ limits to younger cadets?” hummed Adora’s mentor. 

Adora swallowed and balled her fists. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Catra’s gold and blue ones staring up at her in horror. “Um...uh-”

“I’m waiting.”

“I just wanted-” Backing up a step, the back of Adora’s legs collided with the metal frame of the Blob’s cart. She winced, rubbing her elbow, and an idea popped into her head when a small grunt came from the basket, “ _I_ just wanted to see...what this was.” 

Well, that _was_ the truth.

She swung her hand, index finger extended, back towards the Blob. The only response she received from Shadow Weaver was an unamused head tilt.

“I-I- Rogelio and I discovered it, when we took Kyle here earlier. The nurse on duty wouldn’t tell us anything about it, and I- I wanted to know what it was.” Again, Adora gulped. Shadow Weaver’s mask was still blank without expression. “You’re always telling me that I should always be gathering intelligence about my surroundings, that that’s part of being a good soldier. I know I broke the rules, but it wasn’t out of disobedience, I swear!”

Her mishmash of an excuse and explanation hung in the air between her and her mentor, and the longer the silence went on, the surer Adora became of Shadow Weaver’s disappointment. Shoulders dropping, Adora tried to ignore the heaviness that had come over her body and push away her feelings of shame deep down to the bottom of her feet. This feeling, this ugliness that stuck to her like grey mush even after a shower, was even worse than her jealousy of Catra. She fiddled with her fingers just to distract herself from it.

“It is an infant child.” 

Adora lifted her head, surprised by this turn Shadow Weaver had taken, “In-infant?”

“A baby,” Shadow Weaver nodded and took a step forward. With no sound, she ran her blade like fingers across the rim of the Blob’s- no, _Baby’s_ \- plastic basket. “It’s how everyone enters this world.”

“Where did it come from?” whispered Adora. Still fiddling with her fingers, she came to stand beside Shadow Weaver. Those earlier pings of curiosity she fought so hard to keep down were bubbling in her stomach as she tried to keep her questions inside where they belonged.

“This child was rescued from Dawn’s Pass.” 

Well, that answered one question, figured Adora. It didn’t answer her biggest, most pressing one: _who_ brought the baby into the world, if that’s how everyone entered it? That honestly sounded like some evil princess magic at work. The creation of another person? Not even Lord Hordak could do that!

“Dawn’s Pass?” Adora repeated, skeptical enough to forget she wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, “Lord Hordak liberated Dawn’s Pass! Just last week, too! Force Captain Octavia was telling us about the battle.”

Shadow Weaver’s grip tightened around the basket, “I know _that,_ child. You see, this infant’s parents were rebellious insurgents that fought in vain against Lord Hordak’s will. They paid the ultimate price for their disobedience.” 

For just a split second, Adora’s eyes caught Catra’s. She was still huddling under the cot and holding her tail in a tight grip.

“Standard Horde protocol states that any liberated children are to be raised in the nursery,” _Nursery? What’s that? Is that something in the Fright Zone?_ “until they are two years of age and begin their training. The child you see here was brought to the Fright Zone but had an infection in his lungs, and thus needed to be treated with antibiotics. He will be moved to nursery first thing in the morning.”

“So, he’ll be a Horde soldier?” asked Adora. She just couldn’t help herself. As much as she pushed herself to, it was so hard to imagine this blob in a blanket growing up to be a soldier, not when there was no tough ambition in his sleeping face, no determination in his little chubby cheeks.

“That’s correct, Adora.”

“Oh.”

“This is how you were, when I found you and took you in.” Shadow Weaver’s voice was quiet and gentle when she spoke next, and she folded her hands. A weird shiver shot up Adora’s back.

“With a lung infection?” asked Adora, the peaceful look on Shadow Weaver’s mask becoming a frown. ”Oh, as a baby.” 

“We are born into this world such _weak_ creatures, lacking the strength to stand on our own, to fight off the dangers of this world.” Shadow Weaver, her unreadable gaze concentrated on the little blob baby, went on “Babies are so woefully dependent. They need another person to sacrifice _so_ much precious time and energy for every task we take for granted. You know, part of my duties as Lord Hordak’s second in command were once to watch over the nursery, to raise the infants until their second year.”

When her mentor didn’t continue, Adora took a chance, “Why did you stop? Did Lord Hordak reassign you?”

“No, I _asked_ to be reassigned, when I found you. I knew that for you to truly achieve all the power I sensed in you, I had to be the one to guide you to such greatness. I could not waste anymore time with infants like _him_.” she gestured to Blob Baby, who hiccuped in response and slumbered on.

Adora wondered _‘So who will be the one to guide him?’_ but it was just another question she shoved down with the rest she had. “You sacrificed your time and energy for me,” she said instead.

“Mhmm,” Turning toward her, Shadow Weaver ran her fingers down Adora’s cheek, “Make no mistake, Adora. Sacrifices are never without reward. I did what I had to do for the greater good. Your turn will come eventually.”

“Yes ma’am.” Adora nodded. She bit her lip, and when she went to look down to check Shadow Weaver’s platform of shadows again, Adora found she was not just fiddling with her fingers, but picking at the skin of them. Huh. She’d never done _that_ before.

“That is enough gathered intelligence for one night. Go back to the barracks at once. I will see you tomorrow for your private training session with Force Captain Gorgon.” declared Shadow Weaver, pointing to the open door at the other end of the room. A sudden sense of panic at her words reminded Adora she’d snuck in here with Catra! And now Shadow Weaver was expecting her to go back, probably so she could follow her out, close the door and make _sure_ Adora didn’t disobey her latest order. But Adora couldn’t just leave Catra in here with no way out!

Adora looked around the room for a way to stall- something, _anything_ \- she could use to distract Shadow Weaver with long enough so that Catra could make a break for it. _C’mon, think Adora, think!_

Except Shadow Weaver wasn’t getting onto Adora or hurrying her out the door; no, Shadow Weaver was gliding out the door _first_ for once, and by the time that clicked in Adora’s head, her mentor was no more than four feet in front of the door. 

Right, Shadow Weaver traveled _fast._

Letting out a sigh of relief, Adora inched her way towards the cot Catra was under, flashing her an excited smile. Catra sent her one back. Holy Hordak, they’d gotten away with it! Just a few more seconds, and they’d be safe in the clear.

“Oh,” the sudden sound of Shadow Weaver’s voice straightened Adora’s back on instinct, “and Adora… please tell Catra I will see her _first_ thing tomorrow morning.”

The shadows dispersed.

Much to the dismay of Adora’s earlier excitement, their trip back to the barracks was not a race like the one to the MedBay was. Neither of them bothered to say anything about Shadow Weaver. Catra, ears folded against her head, held on tight to Adora’s hand and dragged her tail along the concrete all the back to their bed. 

No talk about the Blob. No talk about what babies were and where they _really_ came from. And no talk about what Shadow Weaver had said.

“It’ll be okay, Catra. She won’t hurt you that bad.” Adora tried attempting to comfort her best friend, wrapping her arm around her when Catra planted her face in Adora’s shoulder after they’d climbed into the bunk. But Catra just shook her head and clutched Adora’s shirt in a tighter grip, keeping her word to little angry growls. Their night of sneaking around to find Adora’s special surprise had officially been ruined. Guess Adora would just have to do better next time. 

And be _a lot_ sneakier, too.

Adora drifted off to sleep not long after Catra’s grip on her shirt lightened, bright red sparks of magic dancing behind her closed eyes and her thoughts heavy with mentions of duty and sacrifice, the only thing comforting her was knowing that sleeping blob in a basket- that _baby_ \- would grow up safe from all of it in here in the Horde.

_

**_The Central Etherian Command Center, 27 years later..._ **

As Catra walks from the dark of the hallway into the light of the Command Center’s ever busy second floor, she expects the relentless fatigue that’s been draining her for the last thirty eight weeks to leave her body, like she’s some schmuck who believes in the power of hard work as life’s grand purpose and an even better distraction. Honestly, it would be a miracle if just for a few hours, her body could give her a break and let her get a little rest, but Catra knows that’s not gonna happen. 

Rest and relaxation isn’t exactly what she signed on for nine months ago.

_Between the planet having a complete meltdown in the middle of the night, Adora leaving-_ a sudden, but unfortunately not unfamiliar, pressure hits Catra just below her ribcage, moving down her abdomen with unforgiving strength and she has to catch herself on the metallic archway, taking a few breaths as Melog comes to rub her leg- _and that,_ Catra pauses in her thought. Nope. She’s not giving it a name right now. She’s not counting the seconds or grading the pain. It’s too early for that, literally.

_ The next time I’ll be resting is when I’m dead, apparently,  _ she sighs, rubbing her eyes with the bottom of her gloved palm.

“Out of the way, General!” a Bright Moon soldier shouts just as they brush by Catra in a hurry of flailing limbs and exposed spears for the door, giving her an extra allowance of room. Catra recognizes his face during the brief second their eyes meet; a Horde cadet turned a decorated Bright Moon officer after the near apocalypse with Horde Prime. Ten years later, and neither of them had fully let go of all that military indoctorine. 

That soldier is followed by at least dozen more, all rushing to shove their feet in on brand purple boots, all wearing that same look of exhaustion on their face when they leave Catra standing there in the arch. Well, Catra wins the whole exhaustion thing. None of those soldiers had to get up ten times to go to the bathroom during a night they already weren’t sleeping through only to be called here.

“General Catra!” A shrill voice calls out. Catra’s ears perk up, and once the flurry of uncoordinated infantry- sheesh, none of that would’ve flown when she and Adora were in the Horde- passes her line of sight, she sees one of Entrapta’s ponytails waving at her from the center of the room. “You’ve arrived!”

She keeps her hand on Melog as she approaches the holograph table, a would be exact replica of the one Queen Glimmer keeps in the castle if not for all of Entrapta’s creative tinkering, “You don’t have to call me General, you know. It’s not like I call you  _ Princess  _ Entrapta.”

“Well, if the formalities bother you-”

“I didn’t say that.” Catra stops her. Unlike the princesses, her title hadn’t been handed to her by way of her birth.  _ Ugh, I should not be thinking about the word ‘birth’ right now.  _ Years of experience on the battlefield and her talent as a strategist was what qualified her to be named Bright Moon’s highest ranking general. That, and the whole saving the planet, reconnecting Etheria to the other worlds this side of the galaxy through diplomacy thing. 

Catra touches the Bright Moon insignia pinned to her tunic that signifies her rank and her claws brush the golden wing that sits beside it. Her heart lurches with a unique type of worry Catra could only have for her wife, but she swallows it and turns her attention to the holograph of Etheria projected over the table. Transparent red pins hovering above the table mark the movement of troops towards the center of Bright Moon, at the same time that color appropriate pins mark the locations of the deployed princesses- Catra’s eyes betray her when they seek out the gold one immediately- and a streak of white light travels closer to the kingdom.

“So I take it that’s the Surge we’re dealing with?” Catra hovers a finger over the white line, bracing herself against the table with her other hand. In the back of her head, she knows she should be sitting down, that any responsible parent in her situation would be sitting their ass down. But Catra ignores the throne like chairs positioned around the table. If they’re going to get anywhere today in getting Etheria to back off its planet sized tantrum, she can’t be lumbering in and out of chairs the entire time.

Entrapta gives her a curt nod. Her attention stays on the screen that hangs in front of her, a mess of green and white text Catra’s too tired to bother to try and make out. Brushing the length of her hair back, Catra ignores the little movement in her abdomen-  _ oh, I guess someone’s awake-  _ and takes a deep breath. Just looking at the table tells Catra they’re in for a hellishly long day. “Debrief me. Who do we still have left in the C.C?”

“Let’s see,” Entrapta mutters to herself.

Looking around the room, Catra can somewhat answer the question for herself. There’s still a gaggle of Bright Moon troops hanging around the computer monitors waiting for orders, and through them Catra spots a pair of wings and tail. She rolls her eyes. Of course Swifty’s here and not with Adora; Adora probably stuck him here just to keep an extra eye on Catra instead of taking him out where he could be useful, and Catra didn’t know, actually protect Adora?

_ I married an idiot. _

Behind Swifty’s giant butt, Catra also spots a mop of blue hair among the lingering soldiers and a pair of incredibly distinct boots. The sight of Bright Moon King and the princess do nothing to improve her mood, just focus her previous intention to do her job and make sure everyone is where they need to be. 

“Why is Frosta still here?” Catra directs the question at Entrapta before the geek princess has a chance to finish the first one she asked.

“Hmm, I believe Bow said something about wanting her here as backup,” replies Entrapta, a stylus now in her mouth. She never looks up from what she’s typing at an inhuman speed on the screen. 

“More like he’s keeping one of our most powerful princesses babysitting sold-” Catra never finishes her sentence, interrupted by another agonizing strike of pain, right in the center of her back. It’s a pain that’s defined by it’s pressure, more force than agony, consuming her entire body and stealing her breath. It’s the same pain, the same forceful sensation that woke her up in the middle night- over, and over, and over at slow, uneven intervals- until the active denial of its presence was keeping her awake, dreading the promise of more pain that would follow.

Her claws dig deeper into the steel of the table.  _ No,  _ Catra practically begs the pressure as it moves down to her pelvis,  _ no, we can’t do this right now.  _

A warmth brushes her leg, and Catra looks around herself to see Melog, their purr echoing in her ear as the pain passes. Catra thanks the stars she’s seeing behind her eyelids and breathes through the last shocks of this pseudo contraction (but this one’s lasted at least five second more than the first one she was walking in, and she knows that there becoming less and less “not the real thing”). She gets enough oxygen back to her head to ignore Melog’s pleads of reason and sensibility, to sit down. To tell someone about what’s happening. To get Adora before the duties of She Ra take her too far away.

“Are you alright?” chirps Entrapta.

“Yeah,” Catra nods, running her hand along her belly as a silent plea:  _ work  _ with _ me here, okay kiddo?  _ When there’s no response of movement she’s had to get comfortable with, Catra fights a smile. Of course her baby would be using the silent treatment on her. It had nothing to do with the fact she’d grown into the space she’d been moving in before. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Entrapta’s eyes sparkle in the bright light of the command center, “Well, this far along in your pregnancy you could be experiencing any number of discomforts: heartburn, nausea, false labor-”

“I said I feel  _ fine _ !” Catra finds herself snapping at the last word, only to regret yelling at that volume when every soldier and royal in the room turns to stare and gape at her. To make matters worse, the wide eyed look of shock on Entrapta’s face makes Catra’s stomach turn itself inside out as guilt bubbles in her throat, forming something like an apology. 

Great! Catra’s head slumps forward. Maybe if she wasn’t running on two hours of sleep, having semi-regular contractions because she was nine and half months pregnant, and trying to command troops through a magical natural disaster at five in the morning, Catra could keep her emotions in check like a normal functioning person, and not like that nineteen year old version of herself that is somehow always having a mental break down.

_ I’m gonna be a bad mom.  _ Yeah, that thought had been playing like a broken First Ones recording for the last thirty eight weeks.

“Woah, is everything okay over here?” a voice sounds out from the other side of the room, and Catra’s ears flick at the sound of those incredibly distinct boots coming toward the War Table. 

“Uh-” Catra sends a look that begets forgiveness in Entrapta’s forgiveness. On one hand it isn’t the princesses’ first choice of heartfelt communication, but on the other hand she’s already turned back to the screen of text, so it’s almost pointless.  _ Almost. _

“Bow!” Entrapta perks up, stylus back in her teeth. “I am happy to report that I was able to flush the C.C’s grid of any magical energy that was overloading the system and that we are officially back online! As we speak I am currently running diagnostics on the Surge’s path through Etheria to determine the level of damage we should expect.”

The crowned king of Bright Moon flashes Entrapta a smile and next to him, Frosta yawns. “That sounds great Entrapta, but now that Catra’s here you should probably report to her.”

“Finally,” Catra throws her head back, placing her hands on her lower back to support herself, “someone around here’s got some sense. Why are you keeping Frosta back here in the Command Center,  _ King  _ Bow?”

Melog meows in agreement, sending Bow the same look Catra wears.

“I thought it’d be smarter not to have all our major players on the field. We don’t know how bad this thing’s gonna get, there’s no point in exhausting all of our resources up front.” explains Bow and Catra rolls her eyes. This conversation is just an echo of every conversation they’ve had up here, during every magical surge since Adora freed the magic trapped in the heart and started these planet sized growing pains; Bow’s a good strategist, still going around proclaiming himself as the team’s Resident Regular Guy despite the crown on his head, but he thinks like a king, not a commander. Three steps ahead, not thirteen.

“Ugh, it’s too early in the morning for you to be sounding like your wife. That thing,” Catra gestures to white streak running up the table on a projected, repeated animation that glows and grows like a lightning, “is the biggest Surge we’ve had in  _ years,  _ and right now it’s headed straight for the center of the Whispering Woods. If we don’t get out in front of this and start evacuating villages and kingdoms  _ now,  _ Bright Moon’s not the only place we’re gonna have to worry about.”

No one in the center bothers to disagree with her. Catra turns from the table, away from the gold pin that hovers right about the center of the white streak, and looks out at the royals and soldiers in front of her. Melog comes to stand beside her.

“If we keep all our major players at the center of the Surge in Bright Moon, then  _ yes,  _ we will run out of resources before we get this under control. But if we split the Princesses along the magic’s path and focus on our defense, then we stand a better chance at protecting everyone and sparing the Princesses’ energy and possibly, well, lives.” she pauses for a brief second, unintentionally, “Frosta, take Swifty and the sixth battalion and meet up with Perfuma. I’ll contact Wrong Hordak to send some clones your way. Get everyone out of her kingdom safely  _ before _ the Surge hits.”

“But Adora wanted me to stay here with you and the ba-” Swift Wind raises a wing and Catra silences him with a look.

“I  _ outrank  _ Adora.” 

Both Swift Wind and Frosta look to Bow for confirmation and he shrugs, giving in with a weak nod.

“Alright then,” Frosta decides, sweeping her long blue braid behind her, “let’s go Swifty! I should probably change out of my pajamas.”

“Bow, I need you to get in contact with Glimmer and learn what the citizens in shelter need from us. We’ll use the fourth and seventh battalions to make sure the Bright Moon evacuees have places to stay, as well as food and medical supplies until this is all over. Entrapta, I need you to speed up your diagnostics. I want to know how bad this thing is gonna be and how long it’s gonna last.” 

Entrapta nods without looking up.

“Any questions?” Again, Catra looks out in the room. When no one answers her, she lays her hand on her belly and nods, “Good.”

Ignoring the flurry that starts at the end of her sentence, Catra turns back and takes another deep breath. Holy shit, is she starting to regret her earlier stance on not sitting down given that her feet have become little pillows of pressure over the past few months. Except the last few months have been filled with overseeing normal, nonfatal acts of diplomacy between the kingdoms and between the planets in their system, so no one cared if Catra worked from her and Adora’s cottage in the Woods, spending most of her free time getting ready to have a baby and trying to survive every other symptom of pregnancy- like swollen feet that hurt like a bitch every time she stood for more than twenty seconds.

_ “Meow, _ ” Melog’s metallic call cuts through the noise around her.

_ Yeah, foot pain is better than false labor.  _ Catra lets out a sigh.

_ “Meow.” _

“It  _ is  _ false,” Catra turns to growl at Melog, “Why would this time be different than any other time in the past month?”

_ “Meow,”  _ the noise rings with a truth that even in her pissy, exhausted state Catra can’t deny: this was her and  _ Adora’s  _ baby, of course she would pick to the worst, most inconvenient and stressful time to be born. A time when Catra and Adora’s jobs demanded their focus and their energy, demanding they be apart from each other.

But it didn’t mean that  _ this  _ is that time. Catra’s going to die on that hill.

Hours ago when Adora was awoken by the ground under their house shaking and blinding white light coming in the through the window (Catra was already awake then, and  _ no,  _ it didn’t matter why), and threw the covers off to start getting ready to go out the try and get control of the damn thing, she didn’t say anything about Catra doing the same so she could go to the Command Center. They were two weeks out from Catra’s due date, exactly fourteen days. There was no reason not to think that this day was anything other than run-of-the-mill, her pseudo contractions and magical surge tearing through Etheria be damned.

Just in case, Catra had still pulled Adora in, kissing her wife so hard Catra was sure Adora had started glowing for half a second. “Be careful,” she’d whispered, running her hand down Adora’s cheek.

Adora kept one hand on Catra’s jaw and the other on the side of her belly. “Always am.”

Catra’s hand drifts to the golden pin on her chest, thinking back to that morning and the quiet  _ I love you’s  _ they’d exchanged in the dark of a room littered with baby blankets, parenting books and scrolls, and tiny little outfits that had been gifted by friends. With their daughter now between them-  _ literally-  _ it was near impossible to leave Adora, and Catra knew by the look in her eyes that Adora was struggling with the same urge to stay.

So Catra kept her mouth shut about the false labor like she had the whole night before. She’d done so just to let Adora get some sleep for once and not be so consumed with worry about her and the baby and then she did it again, to let her leave.

_ I got Swift Wind out of here before he could notice anything,  _ Catra thinks to herself, keeping her eyes away from her emotional expert of a companion and keeping her hand on the pin,  _ now all I have to do is get ahead of this Surge. That way if it is… the  _ real  _ thing, Adora will be back in time. _

“I have plenty of time,” she whispers for her ears and her ears only, and if Melog just happens to be in hearing range, then she kills two birds with one stone.

Next to her, Bow strokes his beard and makes a sober noise. Catra freezes for a split second, wondering if he heard her little statement and will most likely press because it’s Bow and he’s the reigning king of butting into her business, but when she looks over, all she finds is the familiar sight of him looking at the table.

“Glimmer last checked in with me here,” he points to spot on the hologram that shapes the entrance to Bright Moon, “She’s going to try and calm down the Runestone while Adora, Spinerella and Netossa work with the soldiers to get everyone out safely.”

His stance over the projection is a sight that gives Catra deja vu; how many endless days had the two of them spent bent over this table, scouring monitors, doing everything in their collective, intellectual power to keep their loved ones out of the path of Etheria’s deadliest magic? How many hours had they spent arguing over where it was best to send Bright Moon’s troops, what food to allocate and when, (was it ethical to throw Horde clones into the fire even though they’d be Etherian citizens for over a decade now), how to distribute limited medical supplies because this was the third time in a month the planet’s magic was surging? 

“That sounds good,” reaffirms Catra. Now that they’re in a room void of soldiers, now that it’s just the three of them and the sound of Entrapta furious typing, she’s willing to be vulnerable, to let it show in her voice that she’s worried as fuck, too. 

Bow sends her a grateful smile. 

Despite how many times they’ve been here since Adora freed the magic locked in the Heart, this is not where they are usually stationed, usually arguing/ negotiating, usually worrying about the people they married in conversations no one else is privy to, not even their wives. 99% of the time they’re on the first floor of this building, Etheria’s first and main place of interkingdom and interplanetary diplomacy, the Grayskull Embassy. 

Where Catra spent most of her time running the damn place -a complete 180 in her mind, from going from Hordak’s second in command to Etherian’s primary peace strategist, until she and Adora decided that the dip in planetary conflict (which there wasn't a lot of to begin with since planets where pretty happy with the magic She Ra of Etheria brought back to them) was the perfect time to get pregnant and Catra decided to get  _ extra _ creative with her leadership style.

The Grayskull Embassy is the lovechild of Catra and Netossa’s combined efforts for ensuring peace time, a joke Netossa loves to make almost as much as she loves the face Catra makes when she explains it. During the Best Friend Squad road trip Catra set out on with Adora, Glimmer and Bow, the first of what would turn out to be many, Netossa was back on the surface pushing for a place the Princess Alliance could meet that was not in the middle of all of Bright Moon’s reconstruction and when Catra came back having sat through a bunch of boring ass meetings in buildings designed just for a planet’s many politicians, military and other important personnel, the two found themselves in a weird collaboration- and even weirder, super candid friendship- on building an even better, more efficient model of those institutions. 

In the same exact location the Rebellion spent their last days hiding out from Horde Prime, which had previously been the secret bunker where Catra housed weapons designed to destroy the very people she later teamed up with. Netossa, obviously, had been in charge of picking the location.

So yeah, the irony is never not lost on Catra that her job as a diplomat and general is built on the literal foundation of her mistakes. Catra can say she never takes it for granted, though, and is never not reminded of the person she used to be. But to work here, to  _ lead  _ here, that’s an autonomous choice she made with plenty of forethought, a choice Catra could  _ never _ imagine herself regretting.

_ One of many,  _ Catra places a hand at the bottom of her belly.

“Entrapta, how close are you to having those diagnostics I asked for?” 

“Almost…” Entrapta leans in closer to her screen, “there… just tweaking my algorithm a  _ tiny  _ bit since there were some serious miscalculations last time around.”

Of course the  _ intention _ was never to need a command center for military operations. Yeah, Etheria had standing armies and village militias as a long lasting side effect of Hordak’s never ending siege, but it was never tradition to need them for anything other than protection from Horde soldiers, hence their sloppy form and strategy that made them so easily beatable. Construction of the embassy and only the embassy began, but because life was never easy for their ragtag team of rebels, something else had to get in the way.

The Surges. Devastating waves of magical energy that burst from the core of the planet at the most inconvenient, and unpredictable times. Beginning in a Runestone, a Surge could scatter their defenses and their people in a heartbeat.

Apparently, storing pure energy at the core of a magical planet and letting the pressure build within it for over a thousand years until it was a poorly built bomb of apocalyptic proportions only to release that energy to a planet that had been stagnant the same amount of time meant there were going to be growing pains. Massive,  _ dangerous,  _ growing pains.

_ “Etheria acclimated to the suppression of it’s magic and operated off a low magical baseline,”  _ Entrapta had tried to explain over a transmission on Bow’s tablet during the fifth unexplained tremor centered under Bright Moon’s Runestone the second time in a week bright white light broke through the ground,  _ “When Adora broke the restrains of the Heart, she brought magic into the planet that no longer was regulating the intraplanetary systems needs to properly contain the energy! After the detrimental modifications the First Ones made, Etheria is having to learn magic all over again! _ ”

_ “Oh, and it’s learning through earthquakes? Perfect!”  _ Catra had shouted back.

Earthquakes, lightning storms, hurricanes, tsunamis. Her girlfriend’s guilt complex. Every natural disaster every Princess dreams of combating, if they weren’t the one with the malfunctioning Runestone. In the weeks the Surges started, Catra found herself in command of a slew of those standing armies and village militias, along with old Horde Cadets and all those Horde clones that decided to take up a living in Wrong Hordak’s little neighborhood in Scorpia’s kingdom, mobilizing them as first responders for affected kingdoms time after time after time.

Since the Command Center was built as the second floor of the finished embassy, there’d been thirteen surges, not excluding this one, and Catra now commanded the movements of the Princesses on top of the battalions. The Surges varied in intensity, in disaster, and in length but in the ten years they’d been popping up, Catra could say- or at least hope- that they were becoming less and less frequent, taking a shorter amount of time for the Princesses to successfully subdue (so her notion that they’ll be home in time for her to go in active labor- if this  _ is  _ active labor- isn’t unfounded, or so she tells herself over and over as they wait for Entrapta to give them an actual duration). They’re lucky to have almost made through Catra’s entire pregnancy without one disturbing the peace.

Almost.

Okay,  _ now  _ Catra can admit to herself that she wants to sit down. She could do without the way Bow would stare at her as she uses every muscle in her body just to sit in a chair and act concerned- who is she, Glimmer? Her mental clock (courtesy of  _ years _ of withstanding abuse) keeps track of the minutes as Entrapta types away; seven minutes, eight minutes, then nine, one more minute and Catra will be pass the interval between her last two pseudo contractions, and she can tell herself this wasn’t the real thing,  _ happily _ , if not for the way her heart sinks into her chest for a split second.

_ Oh c’mon, you’re disappointed this  _ isn’t  _ the day you’re going to squeeze out another person? We have waited thirty eight weeks to see her, we can wait one disaster more! _

One hand on her belly and the other braced against the table (she can hear Adora’s voice in her head, thrown back at her, “don’t be a hero, Catra”) Catra waits for the tenth minute to come and go.

“Are you sure this is where you wanna be right now?” Bow’s question breaks her off at the twenty first second.

“Huh? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Letting out an involuntary hiss, Catra shifts her feet. Melog pushes up against her legs, and she lets one of her knees rest on their welcoming back.

“You just seem… kinda uncomfortable?” Bow rubs his neck, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

Catra sends him a look that she hopes reads,  _ I haven’t gotten a solid night of sleep since my baby’s head got bigger than the size of my bladder. _

“Okay well, at least let me get you some stuff to help you feel  _ more  _ comfortable, if you’re so set on staying here. Like I could get you a pillow, or some juice?” Bow tries.

“I’m  _ pregnant,  _ not in a coma.” she brushes him off. “Besides, you guys need me  _ here _ and you need me focused. Without me, Frosta would still be hanging in the C.C. playing sleepover games with Swift Wind.”

Catra blinks, crossing her fingers that by time in the split second her eyes are closed, Bow’s expression will have become something other than somewhat pitiful. As well as she knows he means, and is probably  _ not  _ pitying her situation ‘cause he’s, well, Bow of all people, Catra just isn’t in the mood right now to deal with how touchy everyone gets about her and the baby.

Hell, that’s more than half the reason she decided to leave the embassy until the baby was born. Yeah, yeah, Catra is well aware of the whole communal mentality that’s ingrained into Etheria’s child rearing practices and that being in her business is just their unconscious, relatively harmless response of support, but it’s still  _ her _ body and not  _ their  _ baby. Catra would take the most taxing and exhausting pregnancy- to the extent that her daughter was still healthy- over the new and weird amount of attention coming from her friends any day.

“Alright, well, you’ll let me know if you  _ do  _ need anything, right? ‘Cause I’m kinda the master at making war rooms the height of luxury.” Bow knocks her with his elbow.

_ That’s a weird brag,  _ Catra sends him another look but the goofy smile on his face isn’t going anywhere. Besides, she’s spent more time up here with Bow than literally anyone, and knows he’s actually kinda right. “Ugh,  _ fine.  _ Just please, stop making that face. You’re going to give me morning sickness- again.”

The eleventh minute passes.

“Okay! I have finished running my diagnostics!” Entrapta announces. Bow and Catra look across the table, Catra’s hand folding around Adora’s pin.

“And?” 

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” the geek princess continues only to stop right there without expanding.  _ Of _ course.

“Well,” Bow gestures and exchanges another look with Catra, “um, good news first I guess?”

“The good news is that this time around, my algorithm should be airtight. I don’t  _ think  _ I’ve missed anything, so I don’t expect any scary surprises popping up like during the last Surge, where I completely forgot a variable!”

Nodding, Bow takes a breath in an effort to steel himself, “And the bad news?”

Right as the table lights up with a brand new animation- the white surge is now a deep blood red, cutting through Bright Moon and into the Whispering Woods, branching out for every kingdom on it’s way to the old Fright Zone with unforgiving speed and animosity- Catra’s teeth come down so hard on her tongue she almost draws blood. It’s the only action that keeps her from screaming out.

This time when the pain starts, Catra knows that every other contraction that came before this one that she thought was going to  _ be _ the one that took her out, was just a mild sneak peek of what was to come. Her claws dig into the sheet metal of the table. Lungs seizing up, the pressure of the force in her muscles goes from brutal to crushing as it moves downward without any sign of mercy, sending a wave of dizziness that almost throws Catra out of her own body.

_ Fuck!  _ Catra somehow keeps the word in her throat. Tears prick her eyes as she tries to remember how Perfuma taught her to breathe when this would start happening. When the real thing would start happening. But there’s nothing there to greet her but an empty mind that’s been washed away by another onslaught of abdominal pain.

“The bad news is,” Entrapta’s voice is far away compared to this contraction and yet Catra hangs onto the conversation as if staying stubbornly in the present will keep her from passing out. The words  _ “the real thing,”  _ echo over and over and over in Catra’s head, each time with a new sense of doom. “is that this, without a doubt,”  _ the real thing,  _ “the worst and by far the longest Surge,”  _ the real fucking thing,  _ “that Etheria has experienced in the last seven years.”


	2. a flower bud in concrete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Catra closed her eyes once more to picture that little girl and her happy, innocent smile, all that was waiting for her was the image of a shriveled shadow, locked and rotting away back in the Fright Zone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for reproductive trauma.
> 
> this chapter we'll be looking at something other than our main plot, but two events in Catra and Adora's life that bring us there. 
> 
> thank you again for reading!!!!!!

**_Age 19; the edge of Dawn’s Pass_ **

“Scorpia,”

“Hmm- huh?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what?”

Pulling up the hand brake, Catra stopped the speeder in its tracks before whirling around, her left eye twitching like the movement was the only thing keeping her eyeball in place. “That- that thing you’re doing with your mouth. That noise you’re making under your breath.”

“Singing?” Scorpia raised an eyebrow. 

“You call that singing?” Catra scoffed at her inferior. Look, Catra got that growing up in the Horde meant there weren’t any private music lessons (even if that was in Shadow Weaver’s job description she’d just relegate that responsibility off to some tone deaf Force Captain so she’d have more time to make Catra’s life a living hell and dote on Adora on the side) that all those half-witted princesses definitely got growing up, but it was like Scorpia was _trying_ for the same sound her pincers made when she dragged them down slabs of concrete. 

Catra’s hand squeezed the brake handle until the pressure hurt the bones in her hand, her left eye still twitching. It was like Scorpia was _trying_ to tank Catra’s recent promotion as Hordak’s second in command by being as annoying as she could _on_ purpose. But who _wasn’t_ trying to derail all of Catra’s hard earned progress these days?

“Oh um, I could stop. If you want.” Scorpia muttered, her face falling into an expression that gave Catra the urge to both scream, puke, cry, and beg for forgiveness at the same time. And lately, every action, every word, every little breath that any took in her direct vicinity set off a domino effect of violent emotions in Catra, every single one too enormous and too consuming for her body. 

Good thing Catra didn’t have time for any of that. 

“Just-” Catra’s breath faltered when Scorpia refused to look at her (what? Now she was the bad guy just because she needed focus or Hordak would have her sent to Beast Island? Or _worse_?!), “- just don’t do it _right_ now, okay?”

This earned Catra an enthusiastic nod, and she was too fucking tired to do anything but figure that was going to have to do, given the time crunch, and not mention, the insane amount of pressure she was running under. Clicking the brake, Catra pushed the handle down, fucking ecstatic to be driving the speeder the rest of the way in peace and quiet. Finally. Scorpia didn’t say another word, didn’t make another noise, until Catra was pulling up to the edge of Dawn’s Pass and activating the brake again.

That was good enough for Catra.

Just as Catra moved up to the edge to take a watchful stance of the town, Scorpia opened her big mouth. “Uh, boss? Not that I don’t love these recon missions with you lately, but I gotta ask: why are we staking out this village again? The Horde’s occupied this place for the last twelve years, and this isn’t exactly what I pictured when you said we were going to start hanging out over work? I mean, unless Dawn’s Pass has a _mean_ bowling alley. Does- does it?”

“No,” Catra’s tail twitched in irritation. 

“Oh.” 

A cadet, waving his baton in a steady motions, stood at the broad brick wall that blocked off the town as his shift replacement approached from the west, whistling a tune through their helmet so ear shattering it put Scorpia’s new little song to shame. Keeping her eyes trained on the two of them, Catra braced herself for the metallic scent of magic to hit her nose. There was the quick _swish_ of her claws unsheathing, and then, a pregnant silence. 

_If they’re going to strike, Sparkles and Rainbow and- and Adora, or any of the other dopey Princesses- are going to strike now._

But Catra watched unfold was a typical exchange between Horde Cadets: a simple salute, a complaint about standing for ten hours, and a wish for good luck during the dull, boring night shift. No Princesses. No magic. No threats anywhere in sight.

Nothing. Just like Dawn’s Pass went from being a primary target to just another boring occupied village and Catra’s paranoia had wasted another night. Grimacing, her claws digging into her forehead, Catra actually found herself _hoping_ Hordak would be too busy wasting pleasantry on the Princess who sat at (or _on_ it, literally, because Entrapta just thought she was the shit and that she could waltz into any room) his throne to speak with her tonight. Her lengthy string of failures was getting harder and harder to choke her way through excusing.

“So um,” Scorpia started up again, sending Catra’s ears laying flat up against her head. She exhaled a hot and irritated sigh, but the Horde’s hostage/princess stayed true to her inability to take a fucking hint, “when you said we were going to start hanging out after we came back with all that tech from the the Northern Reach, I just- I just didn’t picture us, you know patrolling.”

An angry pulse ran up Catra’s back at the mention of their tech victory- _Entrapta’s_ tech victory- back in that shitty winter wasteland she almost froze her tail off in. “Scorpia,” her voice was thin, “I told you a thousand times, I _don’t_ have time. Just take what you’re given and try not to complain.”

Wow, did she just sound like Shadow Weaver right then. _Whatever_ , Catra turned her head away from Scorpia, in no mood to deal with the fallout of seeing her sort-of-friend’s expression, _maybe the Old Crone was right about some things in the end._

“Can I ask why we’re here? Like here, here? What makes a place with no bowling alley so interesting?” The _second_ Scorpia let up, Catra let her forehead hit the rim of the speeder and didn’t even blink at the ringing pain. Ugh, Scorpia just never gave up. How many times did Catra have to ask for some damn silence so she could think? 

Running her claws down her face- again- Catra grunted, “Dawn’s Pass _can’t_ fall into the hands’ of the Rebellion. If we lose it, or if they’re conspiring with the Princesses, we’re going to lose the Horde’s longest occupied village and we’ll be giving up the tactical advantage it gives us against that flower Princess’s kingdom.” _And I will have another failure under my badge. If I lose another town, I can basically kiss my Force Captain badge goodbye. And maybe my life._

“Ohhhh…” Scorpia trailed off. At this point Catra was going to end up with a bitch of headache just from rolling her eyes at the other Force Captain. “Yeah, that makes sense. This’ll be fun! Patrolling the occupied territories with my bestie!”

Catra made a noise of disgust, but it wasn’t enough to stop Scorpia from pushing herself onto the front seat and almost pushing Catra out of it. Leaning the exoskeleton covered parts of her elbows onto the rim, Scorpia let out a contented sigh, her ditzy gaze trained on the town as Catra struggled- yipping and yelping to no end and scratching up the dinged up leather of the seat- to get her tail out from under the other woman’s butt. 

_Do the words “personal space” just mean absolutely jackshit to her?_ Catra, gripping her freed tail, growled under her breath and turned away from Scorpia. The seat was practically hers now! Looks like kneeling on the floor would have to do! _It’s like I’m wearing a sign on my forehead that reads “what’s mine is yours, including the air I breathe!” Ugh, of course Hordak doesn’t listen to me, nobody does! Not even Scorpia! Everyone is too busy with their own heads up their asses to see what I’m trying to accomplish, or to give me enough space to let me do it! And she wonders why I don’t wanna “hang out after work,” or whatever._

Maybe bringing Scorpia as her backup belonged up there with some of Catra’s worst ideas; not like she didn’t have a pretty impressive tab of those wracked up already. Whatever, the universe wasn’t exactly open to responding to any of Catra’s actions with anything other than another round of punishment, so it wasn’t like acting on her impulsive or emotional notions were really going to be her undoing. Not with Hordak out for her neck, her badge no longer wielding the protective force that came with having real authority. 

Catra was an idiot to think that power would’ve actually lasted her longer than a week, that now that she’d taken out Shadow Weaver and left her to her rotting self in a cell that there wouldn’t be another player on the board that could take her shield of Second in Command away from her. Well, that’s what she got for letting Entrapta into their vents. Helping them win the war or not, _Horde_ or not, their resident techwhiz was still a Princess.

And princesses weren’t good for anything other than being annoyances that stood in Catra’s way.

“Are you _seriously_ humming again, Scorpia?!” Catra yelped out, the volume of her voice loud enough to scare several birds from off the town’s wall. Her split eyes had been trained on the town as she crouched at the bottom of the speeder, the only entertainment the angry spiral echoing in her brain, tailing the action of a family and their wagon of sparse supplies as they approached the gate when the grating sound smacked her upside the head. The resulting intensity of her fury was almost enough to give Catra the strength to put her fist through the wall of the speeder.

Scorpia retreated into herself. “Sorry.”

Holding back a response, Catra just scoffed again and turned back to the previous subject of her attention. Watching one of the men of the family reach the gate and request entrance into his town was better than directing a full on meltdown at her inferior, kicking her out of the speeder, and forcing her to walk her way back to the Fright Zone. Catra wasn’t so far drowning her rage to something _that_ idiotic, yet.

It was big yet. Catra knew that as she tried to shift her position, rolling her head on her shoulders and squeezing her fists, breathing only through her nostrils despite understanding that there was no sitting with an anger this encompassing. The feeling pushed and pushed and pushed at her physical walls until it was practically promising that Catra’s building fury would end one mesmerizing explosion, one that would take her, Scorpia, the family, the Horde Cadet, the entire town, all of it, out with a bang. 

Now if only Scorpia had the brains to _know_ that when she started her singing up again.

Catra peeled her blue eye open. The sun was beginning to set, and it had bathed the surrounding forest in shades of soft pink and orange, a scene so painfully ordinary it meant they couldn’t be anywhere else other than reality. Underneath the shadow cast by the stone wall, Catra took in a breath as she watched the first man continue to negotiate his family’s entrance into their own town.

Okay, so she’d _hadn’t_ blown them all to fiery simtheriens- not the speeder, not the wall, not the little girl watched over by another man stumbling barefoot in the grass, letting out happy babbles as she pulled out clumps of grass and started sticking them in her cloth diaper until her father got down on his knees just to get her to stop. Guess Catra could count that as victory that her emotions hadn’t ended in an explosion that ended a child, a baby. Catra figured that given the fact that each step the little girl took on those chubby little legs of hers was a leap of faith that she probably wasn’t even a year and a half old.

The other man, the one that had chosen to forgo the customary negotiation in favor of watching the little girl experiment with walking near their wagon, moved from his kneeling position to pick her up. Something about the way the villager held her with a grip firm enough to keep his child from falling, yet not with so much strength that he hurt left a series of psychosomatic bruises up and down Catra’s ribs. She watched as the man ran a hand bigger than his daughter’s entire head through her soft and downy mauve hair, careful to avoid the tiny stumps in her head that would eventually become long enough and pronounced enough to match the horns of her father’s head. Catra let out a breath she was holding just to suck in another.

“Dada!” Even from the faraway vantage of the speeder Catra’s ears still picked up on the sound of the little girl recognizing her father. Because the universe was both impartial and cruel. Right as Catra realized she had stuck one set of claws in her mouth and she was chewing on them- who was she?! Adora?! Out her biting her freaking nails ‘cause something had the nerve to make her uncomfortable?- the baby stuck her tiny, chubby little hand into her father’s bright orange beard and yanked without mercy.

Now _that_ guy’s screams scared the rest of the birds away.

As the family’s head negotiator rushed away from the Horde Cadet to tend to his husband’s facial hair, their daughter laughing up a riot at their combined reactions, Scorpia leaned over to where Catra sat on the floor, her tail twitching back and forth. “Uh boss?” she started but Catra didn’t turn away, her hand clutched into the fabric that rested above her sternum and not on her Force Captain badge for once. “Should we do something about these guys?”

“Why? They’re not Princesses.” _They’re just a normal family trying to get into the place they live, so they can take their daughter home and have a dinner together that’s not mush, and then tuck their daughter in, tell her bedtime stories, be there in the night in case she has nightmares and needs them._

The fathers joined in on their daughter’s laughter.

“Well, that is true.”

A new feeling crept up Catra’s spine, but this time around the discomfort didn’t bring to her the edge of explosion. Implosion, actually. It was the same heaviness that settled in her lungs and crawled up to her throat, a slow and destructive effective infection of Catra’s self, when Hordak shut down her ideas to let Entrapta speak. When the Princesses left a trail of glitter behind running, tripping over themselves to follow _She Ra’s_ lead. When Shadow Weaver cupped Adora’s face and showed her with praise for the simplest fucking task. 

Yeah, Catra knew it made her the world’s biggest idiot to keep her eyes on the seemingly indifferent family and the happiness that radiated off them. She was aware of the damage she brought on herself by not turning away, the risk she ran by letting her emotions run her. So why couldn’t she look somewhere else, _anywhere_ else?

“I can’t wait to be a mom.” Scorpia said out of nowhere. Ears flying straight up, Catra blinked before turning to gawk at her. 

“Wait, really?” _A mom_ mom _, as in a person who takes care of and looks after her children?_

“Yeah, I mean, it’s something I’ve always wanted.” Scorpia shrugged, somehow rubbing her neck with those big pincers of hers. “Why, do you think that’s a bad idea?”

“Scorpia, we’re in the middle of a war,” and that was putting it bluntly, “Besides, Hordak doesn’t even allow fraternization between his soldiers, much less-” her sputtering stops, Catra’s brain still tripping over the word _fraternization_ , “having a family!”

“Well, we’re not going to be at war for the rest of our lives, Catra. Once we get the rebellion to surrender, I kinda wanted to set down roots, do something other than be a Force Captain, not that I don’t love doing that. I’m sure Hordak will loosen up about the whole fraternization thing as soon as we win! I mean, you’ve seen how he was with Entrapta!”

At her words, Catra came close to all out hurling over the speeder’s edge. It was crappy enough of Scorpia to bring up how Entrapta and Hordak were getting closer every day and shoving Catra out of the position she worked her ass off for, but then she had to go and frame it like _that?_

Look, Catra got that Entrapta wasn’t the most socially aware princess, but yikes. That didn’t mean she didn’t have some sort of standard.

“What about you, Catra?” Scorpia continued, “What do you- um, what do you see yourself doing after the war?”

Catra met Scorpia’s eyes, only to regret it. “I- I-” she stuttered, looking away and forcing her eyes closed. Pfft, after the war? _After_ the war? How the hell was Catra supposed to picture an after when her entire life, her entire purpose, every goal she’d ever had, was only _because_ there was a war to begin with? 

The Horde conquers the rest of the planet, sends the Princesses running, puts She Ra in the ground, and what, Catra was just supposed to have a plan for after that? What… what was Catra supposed to do when they did win, when the Horde pulled off everything she worked for?

Even though she was expecting to find an emptiness, a blank space, a new start for the after the war when she tried imagining it, all Catra could picture was blonde hair tied up in a tight ponytail, melodic laughter accented by brief snorts ringing in her, the bluest eyes cutting through the longing. The same longing that plagued Catra when she forced her eyes open and saw the two fathers talking to their daughter in gentle yet bright voices, explaining to her that the soldiers had processed their papers and they could go home now.

“I don’t know.” was Catra’s quiet response. 

There wasn’t any promise Hordak would keep her alive that long anyway, or if there would be anything left to live for by the time Catra got Adora down her knees and ended it all- by giving into that implosion that lived deep down in her core, letting it rip right through her and seeing to it that her love for Adora severed the universe in two, creating black hole that would suck them all in eventually- right then and there. Like it always promised to.

A part of Catra tried to push beyond that implosion, tried to picture the future Scorpia envisioned in her mind of setting down roots and birthing legacies. Was there a part of her, beyond the pain and the brokenness, that wanted what Scorpia wanted, too?

Watching that family tonight had been the only part of her mission that hadn’t felt the same as downing a vat of acid down her throat. And as hell bent as Catra was on obliterating any princess that dared to mess with this town’s occupation, there was no animosity in her heart towards that little girl.

_She was kinda cute, in the mischievous, funny kind of way. And almost fun- for a baby, that is._

But when Catra closed her eyes once more to picture that little girl and her happy, innocent smile, all that was waiting for her was the image of a shriveled shadow, locked and rotting away back in the Fright Zone. 

_

**_Age 29; The Heart Blossom_ **

Every time Adora thought she was safe in the knowledge that she knew every type of party thrown of Etheria, another one, a completely different one, would be thrown in a village or kingdom and Adora would be invited- because of her status as She Ra- and left to figure out the ropes all over again. 

Usually she didn’t complain. Usually there wasn’t anything to complain about because why complain to begin with? Adora’s childhood was spent in the repetitive drivel of running drills, completing training simulations, studying tactical procedure and eating gray and brown mush before getting up to do it all over again, every activity and every move planned _for_ her by her superiors, and if Adora and the other cadets didn’t find time within the tight schedule to make joy for themselves, then the first eighteen years of Adora’s life would’ve been _completely_ joyless. There weren’t any parties, of any kind, thrown in the Horde. 

No celebrations, no birthdays, no... whatever she was at the moment attending for Perfuma and Scorpia that she didn’t remember the name of. The entire party was celebrating Scorpia and their new baby that would be born in the early summer, Adora understood that much as she stood at the back of the small crowd, watching from afar as Scorpia unwrapped the gigantic sparkly bow around Swift Wind’s basket of different colored apples. 

“Eating a steady diet of apples makes healthy babies!” Swift Wind was saying around an apple core _in his mouth._ “It’s scientifically proven!”

Adora, chewing on her lip, watched Scorpia and Perfuma, the Heart Blossom a glittering backdrop behind them, exchange a look before Scorpia patted her extended belly. 

“Then I’ll take ‘em all!” the pregnant woman declared and Perfuma’s confusion turned into a bright smile, her hands clasped in excitement.

“Ooh, you should open mine now!” Frosta encouraged from the front row. Standing up, the ice princess brushed the grass off her lap and picked up a box twice her size (much to Frosta’s chagrin, she’d never gotten past five feet) from the lavish mountain of gifts piled up by Plumeria’s Runestone .

 _Yep,_ Adora thought to herself, ripping a piece of skin off her lip as she looked on, _we did_ not _have parties like_ this _in the Horde._ The showering of gifts and love and support for an expecting couple, the sharing of food (a lot of which was prepared tiny by Entrapta’s request) and drinks like the glass of ruby punch with a plucked chrysanthemum blossom floating atop that Adora had been nursing for the last thirty five minutes. Maybe it was because of the many parties Adora _had_ attended, both as herself and as her godlike alter ego, she’d never been to a party celebrating _this_ , or maybe it was because she was trying actively to avoid thoughts she didn’t even want to name, but her mind kept going back to the Horde, a party going habit of useless comparison Adora hadn’t resorted to in almost seven years.

If a Horde cadet became pregnant- fraternizing with another soldier or not- they weren’t met with gifts and a party, just a serve of dishonorable discharge and a night in the infirmary for a procedure Adora couldn’t get anyone to put a name to because anyone that was discovered and then forced to go through it was also thrown out of Fright Zone to fend for themselves. 

Adora had been aware that even back then that Shadow Weaver was involved in overseeing the procedure, even if she didn’t know to what extent, because it’s rare occurrence meant that her old mentor sat her down the two times it did happen to give her a talking to that always lasted the length of the afternoon just to warn her about the dangers of stepping out of line the same way those soldiers had. 

Adora never put a second thought to Shadow Weaver’s strict warnings not to get pregnant back then. There just wasn’t...any need to.

Taking another sip of her flower punch, Adora tried to quell her discomfort that bubbled in her throat. Why was she thinking about _Shadow Weaver_ anyway? This was _supposed_ to be about Scorpia and Perfuma and their growing family, and Adora, who’d been nothing but excited to meet their baby and had already offered her and her wife up as babysitters, was 100% nothing but happy for her friends because there wasn’t any reason not to be! 

After years of strife and struggle, they were getting everything they’d ever wanted.

“Oh Frosta, you shouldn’t have!” Scorpia was exclaiming up at the front, but Adora paid her no mind. 

Going back in time with her thoughts back to the Horde and back to Shadow Weaver was nothing but an attempt on Adora’s part to distract herself in the worst way from the implications of this new type of party. At least she could admit _that_ to herself.

“Every baby has a playhut like this in the Kingdom of Snows, and I needed to get rid of the one I had when I was a kid. There really isn’t any room for it in the castle anymore.”

Up until entering the draping canopy of daisies, lilacs, and daylilies, Adora had been nothing but excited to come to this party- _the New Blossom Rite, that’s what Perfuma wrote on the invitation!-_ and take a break from routine at the embassy, spend some time with her wife that wasn’t overlooking contracts and in-the-work treaties for the upcoming Galactic Planetary Summit, all in the name of celebrating Scorpia’s pregnancy here at the foot of the Heart Blossom. But when Adora walked in and saw Scorpia and Perfuma doting over their unborn baby, saw all the kids from kingdom running around playing a made-up game, saw Sea Hawk sauntering in with his four year old on his shoulders, _it_ hit her like a stun baton to the back.

“It’s perfect!” Perfuma was squealing.

“Yeah, it’ll look so great in the nursery,” Scorpia nodded in agreement, “It matches our theme and everything!”

“Hey um, why didn’t Kai get your old playground hand-me-down thing when _I_ was pregnant?” Mermista questioned from her seat next to Sea Hawk. Her boyfriend/consort, who up until that moment had been catching up on some much needed sleep right there in the chair, perked up at the sound of her voice and peeled his elbows off his knees.

“‘Tis a fair question, my Mermista,” he yawned, “is your donated garbage not good enough for _our_ son? Where is he anyway?”

“It’s not garbage!” Frosta protested.

“Oh, this- this lever thing just fell off.” Scorpia muttered before Perfuma took the entire gift off her lap.

“Also,” continued the ice princess as Sea Hawk looked around the partygoers with frantic, wary eyes, not invested in the answer he asked for _at all,_ “You and Mermista said you didn’t want gifts, and also didn’t invite us to _your_ party.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that.” Mermista nodded and Frosta made a face. “What, it’s an _extremely_ personal affair, having a baby in my kingdom. Plus, you guys are already annoying enough without me being pregnant, so.”

“ _So_ glad we invited you,” Perfuma said, her posture bracing and her eye twitching.

Want, that’s what Adora was running away in her head from. The heavy feeling seeped past the walls of her slowly beating heart, entering and dissolving into new parts of her with every breath she tried to take against the paralyzing ache it always created. With every thought, the wanting ran through Adora’s brain committing acts of treason, her true self back to square one of fighting with her core, always revealing realities she lusted after with quiet shame.

Adora was well aware of what a poor tactic her avoidance was, that it was just a regression back to that naive young girl who stumbled out of the Fright Zone with the vague goal of righting the regime’s ever growing list of wrongs. _And how had that young ex-soldier’s path almost come to an end?_ She could hear the voice of the Plumerian Guide that had worked with her on and off for the past eight years in a structured mental tackle of Adora’s (unfortunately unavoidable) psychological problems. _Recklessly giving her life because it was the perfect way of “avoiding” the future?_

Scoffing, Adora let her head hit the tree trunk she’d been leaning against and took another sip of her drink. What did Guide Laurel know, other than knowing the exact right thing to say whenever Adora wanted to turn away from doing the work and putting in the effort that always helped her breathe easier in the end? It was like Laurel was a broken First Ones hologram at times; always repeating that Adora was not a lightning rod for sacrifice, She Ra or no She Ra, and was allowed to feel so-called selfish feelings… even when those feelings took up room and made other people uncomfortable.

Was this specific feeling of want a selfish feeling? That Adora stood here in the pink ambience and watched from the new mothers until her jealous gaze turned the everything and everyone shades of green? 

_I bet Guide Fae never calls Catra out like that,_ Adora dug her molars into the side of her cheek, having abandoned the swollen and scabbing skin on her lip, _they get to spend their sessions meditating while I have to face every single thing I’ve ever incorrectly internalized. Ugh, why do I have to be so bad at meditating?!_

“I can’t believe you thought you could pass off junk, Frosta.” Glimmer was saying from the blanket her husband spread out at the start, since this party was more of a relaxed picnic where guests exchanged rather graphic stories about childbirth as a way of supporting the mother-to-be (Adora was still lost on how _that_ was at all supportive.) than an all out rager of a ball. Adora hadn’t really been paying attention, too lost in her thoughts about tiny little cat ears and toy swords, as well as the subsequent avoidance of those thoughts, to keep track of the party’s progression or structure.

“Yeah,” Bow added, “I built a whole cradle for them from scratch! It took me three weeks just to find the right type of oak!”

“Well I’m _sorry_ I don’t know what children want! Or do, or like, or whatever!” Frosta crossed her arms in a fury and plopped back into the grass.

While Perfuma dropped her head into her hands, her wife just waved the entire conversation off with her pincer, “It’s not a competition you guys. We love all your gifts! And I’m sure,” Scorpia stopped to rub her belly, “that she will, too.”

There was a soft “ _aww”_ that traveled through the small crowd gathered and Adora almost stopped taking chunks out of her cheek just to let out a frustrated scream. As Scorpia went on to talk about how much she was betting her daughter would adore all the toys, and clothes, and handmade furniture for her two different nurseries in two different kingdoms, Adora forced herself not to tear her hair out, but to down her drink. She forced her mind to go back to her sessions with Laurel. Something the Guide said _had_ to make sense of why the happiness in Scorpia’s eyes was driving Adora up the tree she stood against. 

Laurel always cautioned Adora against avoiding her feelings. Her feelings were signals, messengers, and that if Adora _really_ wanted those feelings to stop kicking her ass all the time, she’d listen to what they were telling her and then simply let them go in peace. 

_Easier said than done!_ Adora almost always thought to herself whenever she experimented with her Guide’s advice. It was one monumental task to sit and speak with her fear, her sadness, her anger, but _wanting?_ Wanting went against basic tenants of the very conditioning Adora and Laurel had been working for so many years to undo. Sitting with her wants reduced Adora back into that little kid she used to be so long ago, squirming and whining and begging for permission to get up and go do something else. _Anything_ else.

But it’s not like there _was_ anything else to do or distract her at this New Blossom Rite (nothing against her friends, but watching them argue over trivial things at an event that wasn’t even centered on them was no longer the fasnicating activity it had been a decade ago), so Adora reasoned that committing this emotional suicide asked of her was better than running in place away from it. It was better than letting her jealousy speak into her ear with an one-of-a-kind Entrapta built Megaphone, because _fine,_ Adora wanted to experience what Scorpia and Perfuma were getting to experience, okay! 

Were her feelings going to leave her alone _now?_

“Oh, I know!” Perfuma started clapping her hands again before motioning to a Plumerian villager, “We should do games next! Usually next in a typical New Blossom Rite we would welcome the baby and wish the parent luck by singing soothing songs in a drum circle, but Scorpia asked that we save that for the end.”

“Because it’s definitely gonna be the best part!” added Scorpia.

Probably not, Adora sighed, knowing that in the twenty nine years she’d been alive she’d never been able to magically make her problems disappear with the wave of her hand, whether or not she _was_ avoiding them. It’s just, this was the kind of emotion she couldn’t _just_ listen to the message of. Facing it head on meant Adora had to act on the deepest desires bleeding through her subconscious, it meant taking that leap and actually talking to Catra about the fact that she _wanted_ to have kids with her. 

And Adora for the life couldn’t guess what was on the other side of that leap since, in her mind Catra was equally likely to go either way, and she just couldn’t shake the feeling that because she didn’t know what she would land on- or if she would even survive it- that maybe it was safer just not to take the jump at all. 

Reasoning that way worked for a while, and then over the course of months practicing avoidance the want to be a mom became so much bigger than Adora could’ve ever predicted, so daunting and unavoidable that it threatened to push Adora off the decreasing ledge she walked and _force_ her to take the jump. 

_I’m starting to have real regrets about coming to this mom/baby party._ The drink spoiling her stomach, Adora sunk against the trunch of the tree as the rest of the party rushed up to play the game Perfuma designed where everyone took a handful of floral supplies to create a babydoll with. 

How was Adora supposed to know that she’d want for more than one thing, more than one person, more than once in her life? Saying the Fright Zone had not prepared for the emotional complexity of the real world _or_ adult life was the understatement of her entire life, and here Adora was, stuck at another impasse just like the one that almost broke her before. 

_Maybe it was silly to think I’d never not be satisfied after Catra and I got married. And what does me saying that I want more say about our marriage? That Catra’s not enough?! Because I_ know _that’s not true! Ugh,_ this _is why I hate wanting things!_

“Okay, _seriously_ has anyone seen Kai? Mermista, I cannot believe you lost him!” Adora opened her eyes, her arms crossed across her chest, to see Sea Hawk pushing over Plumerian villagers and other party attendees. Pfft, Kai. Adora loved that little rascal, if not for his wild personality the result of inheriting his parents’ most annoying traits, and despite the fact that his birth was one of the first events that led Adora to the impasse she found herself at standing here celebrating the child of _another_ pair of friends. 

“I didn’t _lose_ him!” Mermista fired back. “I swear, I closed my eyes for just a second and he was gone! Ugh, he is _so_ your son, Sea Hawk!”

Kai was the first Princess Alliance baby, and until Scorpia and Perfuma’s daughter was born, the only baby, his status as first secured by Netossa and Spinerella choosing not to expand their family (“This alliance _is_ my baby!” Netossa would say whenever anyone brought the subject up; Spinerella on the other hand would tell people with a bright smile on her face, “I already have kids! Five! Nestor, Elsa, Otis, Marley, and Mango!” Her dogs, she was talking about her dogs.) and the fact that Kai was 100% an _accident_ . None of the other alliance members even knew Mermista was pregnant at the time, and Adora suspected that for a while Sea Hawk hadn’t known either, and the announcement of Kai’s upcoming birth came via a royal seagull to everyone’s utter disbelief- well, everyone _except_ Catra and a well observed Entrapta. 

_“Seriously?”_ Catra had thrown her head back and laughed, a squeak escaping her throat, _“I’m just surprised this didn’t happen years ago!”_

Despite his untraditional welcome to the world, and that his paternal heritage was rife with criminal activity however well intended, Salineas flaunted Kai around as their pride and joy. 

“Oh ho ho, Mermista!” Sea Hawk pointed a finger down at his girlfriend.

Mermista’s shoulders dropped and she blinked at him, “Seriously? _That’s_ your retort?”

“I-I don’t know!” After spazzing out in a series of frustrated movements that _almost_ made Adora smile, Sea Hawk let his whole body hang down in defeat. “I haven’t gotten much sleep since Kai got through the worst of that ocean cough he had last week.” 

“Well, neither have I babe! And it’s not like _you_ have to get up every morning and be Queen!”

Swallowing, Adora tried to pull her focus away from the fighting parents. Just watching their tense interaction of exhaustion and panic made Adora want to take her want by the shoulders, shake it back and forth and scream “ _SEE!? IS THIS THE FUTURE WE WANT FOR ME AND CATRA?”_ until she shouted enough sense into to it to obliterate the feeling completely. 

Children were commitments of sacrifice. _Long_ term commitments of sacrifices. Their first years were defined by sleepless nights, by changing and cleaning diapers and cleaning up a myriad of other body fluids, by keeping them out of any danger that attracted them as they learned to navigate the world. And those were just the _first couple of years._ If she and Catra and their hypothetical child somehow managed to survive those first years, there were so many more ways to destroy the child’s life, to mess them up so bad they’d spend the _rest_ of their lives recovering. And resenting their parents.

Adora, of course, had to learn that the hard way: by being that child that was almost so forgone she chose death over the living that loved her.

Not to mention the actual _process_ of bringing a child into the world- the fact that one of them would have to sacrifice their body and their comfort and their existing relationship with the other for almost ten months just to go through the rigorous, possibly _days_ long process of giving birth- if that was the route Adora and Catra chose to go with to have a family.

 _How am I supposed to ask Catra to make a sacrifice like that?_ Adora went back to picking her bottom lip with her teeth. During all the nights she’d spent lying awake thinking about bringing a baby into the picture, Adora was long past a point where she was confident enough to say that she’d carry the baby. She’d be the one to take on pregnancy- if that’s what Catra wanted, if that’s what Catra needed from her. It was _every other_ sacrifice that came after the baby that kept Adora from letting the possibility leave her mouth and become an actual conversation past, “Hey, did you see that really cute baby in the foyer of the embassy today?” 

Catra had clawed her way up from the bottom to be where she was now, faced and beat every trial just to survive and now she was actually _living,_ confident in her position negotiating peace. Who was Adora to ask Catra to sacrifice even an _ounce_ of her time away from the work she was doing just for this stupid selfish want that was eating Adora alive?

“Well, we need to find him before he sets something on fire,” Mermista let out a sigh.

“Where do you think he could’ve gone?” Sea Hawk, stroking his mustache, looked around, “I can’t find him anywhere near the Heart Blossom and he wasn’t up there eating out of Perfuma’s flower supply like I’d thought he’d be.”

Out of habit, Adora did her own visual sweep over the party to see if she could see Kai’s head of navy blue hair among the guests. She couldn’t help it, okay! Her job as She Ra was, technically, to help other people and knowing Kai’s tendency to head straight for whatever was most flammable Adora figured it couldn’t hurt to put her emotional sit-in on hold to lend Sea Hawk and Mermista an extra set of eyes. And it definitely beat making voodoo flower dolls of Scorpia and Perfuma’s unborn baby, or trying to beat Bow at the game, because that was the most up-alley thing for Bow that Adora ever heard and he was most definitely winning.

Stepping forward, Adora intercepted Sea Hawk before he could start listing off more ideas of havoc the four year old could be wreaking, “I haven’t seen Kai since Catra went to the bathroom.” 

“Okay,” Mermista replied, face blank “How long ago was that?

“I think um, I wanna say at least forty five minutes? She left after presents started- wait.”

 _That can’t be right! Has Catra been gone this long?_ Mermista and Sea Hawk exchanged a look as Adora slapped her forehead, _Sheesh! No wonder I’ve been standing at a tree for forty five minutes ruminating! Usually she would snap me out of it! Is my head seriously so far up my butt about this whole having a kid thing that I didn’t even notice my own wife ditched the party?_

“So, I take it we add Catra to the list of missing people?” Sea Hawk said when Adora continued to stand there making faces and weird grunts of frustration.

 _I can_ not _believe myself! What if she’s upset, or- or what if something happened to her? How am I supposed to be in charge of another living person if I can’t even be bothered when Catra, my other freaking half, leaves for the bathroom and doesn’t come back!?_ For half a second, Adora contemplated taking her now empty glass and chucking across the field. 

“Hmm,” Adora started again after taking a deep breath, not like they were running against a ticking clock or anything, “Catra’s got a soft spot for Kai, if they’re both missing then they’re probably together.”

“Cool Catra, thanks for taking my kid.” Mermista threw her hand up.

“He probably ran off _first_ \- you know what, nevermind. Let’s just split up, we’ll cover more ground that way.” 

After sending Sea Hawk north of the Heart Blossom and Mermista volunteered to cover both the east and west, Adora headed south, the last direction she saw Catra leave almost fifty minutes earlier. Adora almost kicked herself as she dipped out from under the canopy for being so absentminded towards Catra’s needs. She wanted to be a mom? She should work on being a better _wife._ Not like she had four years of practice in that role or anything!

The walk away from the party was albeit a nice distraction. What a day Scorpia and Perfuma picked her for this new baby rite party. A breeze kept Adora’s hair off the back of her neck and shoulders, and as she continued walking she channeled her focus on every footstep she took in the dewy grass, the warm rays of sun hitting her face. Just like her Guide Laurel instructed on how to be in the moment- even if the moment was objectively uncomfortable. Whenever Adora did find Catra, it was best that Catra didn’t see right through her and know she was freely indulging her anxiety. Again.

Catra would pull her hair out if Adora developed another ulcer.

“Ha-yah!”

“Oh no!” Adora stopped in her tracks, thrown out of her mindful stupor by the sound of her wife’s voice. _Catra!_ “You got me, Kai! Help, Melog, I need backup!”

Turning towards the sound, Adora found Catra lying at the sprawled roots of a willow tree, her arm thrown up over her head and her tongue hanging out of her mouth as she played dead, the happy twitching of her tail and one alert ear betraying her playful ruse. Adora could see her face contorted like it was taking everything not to laugh and keep her eyes closed. Waving a wooden stick around the in air, Kai squealed with laughter as Melog’s smallest form chased him around Catra’s “perished” body. 

_Hey look, I was right! They’re together._ Adora smiled to herself. She stopped, one foot on the hill’s incline, to indulge in a certain selfishness and watch the three of them for a few minutes.

“Melog, avenge me!” Catra cried out, a lightheartedness to her tone. Yowling out in response, Melog’s ferocious act might’ve been a little bit more believable if they hadn’t been this travel sized version. Adora chuckled to herself.

Kai stopped running in his tracks, his bare feet barely slipping out from under him on the grass. He planted his hands above his hips- a Mermista move if Adora ever seen one- and glared down at Catra. “Hey, I got you! You’re a _dead_ pirate! Dead pirates don’t talk, okay?”

“Right,” laughter spilled from Catra’s lips, “Sorry.”

She made a show of sticking her tongue back out.

Adora wrapped her arms around herself as Kai, satisfied with Catra’s pretend attempt at being a corpse, went back to fending off Melog’s bounces and pounces. His laughter made as a tiny Melog tackled him to the grass and started licking Kai’s face to get their revenge carried through the trees and into the village behind him. Stomach twisting, Adora forced herself to take a deep breath. 

Well, looks like all the work Adora did back there at the party to make herself okay with her wanting, to accept and let it go, was out the window. This. This was the universe, fate, her own emotions, pushing her off that edge and forcing her to take the jump. Because it was just Adora’s luck that she left a party about new moms and their new baby to find her wife playing pirates with a little kid. 

_I should’ve sent Sea Hawk south._

Here the past and present were playing out in front of Adora’s eyes under that willow tree. Catra lay there cheering Melog on, begging them to go easy on “Captain Kai” in the name of the friendship they used to have before Kai got another crew ( _on the nose, babe),_ breaking Kai’s previous rule that dead pirates weren’t allowed to talk, and all Adora could see were those little girls running down the corridors of the Fright Zone, lost in the competitive and playful nature that defined the friendship even after hours.

“I could be a ghost pirate!” tried Catra, leaning up on her elbows.

Kai waved the stick back in her face, stopping just before her nose. Catra’s face broke out in a smile, “What? Ghosts can be pirates!”

This playful Catra, this master pretender, creating the pockets of joy and light in an otherwise bleak and overshadowed childhood; this was the first version of Catra Adora fell in love with. Years before her understanding of love was solidified, years before they lost themselves and consequently each other, back when having a best friend was the same as having a first love. The most pure, uncorrupted kind of love.

“Really? Daddy’s never met ghost pirates!” Kai lowered his kid with only the skepticism a child could muster.

“That can’t be right!” Catra feigned confusion before looking up with bright eyes, “Wait? He never told you about the time your dad and I were attacked in Salineas by ghosts?”

Kai’s mouth dropped and he shook his head. Dropping to the grass, the little boy scooted over until his knees were touching Catra’s legs. The stick stayed in his grasped hands as Melog came to snuggle up in his lap. “Will _you_ tell me?”

“Hmm, I dunno, kiddo. I don’t want to give you nightmares.” Catra, ruffling his hair, told him.

“I’m a big boy! I’m four!” Kai held up three fingers. 

“Well, I can’t argue with that logic. You convinced me. But if you get too scared, I’m stopping.” Like Catra would ever weave Kai a tale of complete horror. Adora almost scoffed where she stood. Catra was a lot of things, but antagonistic towards Mermista’s son wasn’t one of them. This fabrication would be nothing if not kid friendly and not the silliest Catra could possibly make it. Kai was already laughing and Catra had barely spoken two sentences.

So this was their present. Adora started climbing the hill, half listening to Catra recount a weekend she spent in Salineas delegating and assisting in cleanup of the kingdom ( _that_ part was real; Adora didn’t know anything about ghosts or pirates or ghost pirates but had spent plenty of weekends traveling with her then girlfriend to the kingdom by the sea because when she wasn’t overseeing construction of the Grayskull Embassy Catra spent the end of the week helping to rebuild the last stronghold of Etheria she helped Hordak destroy) when she and Sea Hawk encountered a shipwreck full of ghosts. 

This was Adora and Catra’s now: studying the agricultural products and domestic trades of other planets in the system so they could be prepared for the summit, working together in the Embassy to help the other Princesses with interkingdom peace, ditching their friends’ parties just come clean about it in sessions with their Guides. No battles to fight, no warlords or dictators to free the universe from, just peace and an endless stretch of time before them to stare at the present and wonder: 

Was it selfish to hope this could be their future?

Adora didn’t just love Catra, Catra was _enough_ for Adora. Watching Catra ramble on about how Kai’s dad took out sea phantoms while she destroyed the ancient artifact that summoned them showed Adora that which she knew to be true, but a truth beyond that, too. Adora didn’t want a child to fill some empty hole inside her that Catra couldn’t, that’s not what the want had been whispering to her, but that she wanted to share this abundance of love she and Catra had. 

_Well, that’s really cheesy._

Still, Adora let her shoulders relax from the previous tension as she walked the rest of the hill, feeling more brave than queasy for once about approaching the subject. Adora had been so terrified to talk about expanding their family because instead of talking to Catra about it, she’d drummed up a false scenario where all Catra heard was that their marriage left a part of Adora empty, but now that Adora held the truth in her hands there was a resolve in her to do what she should’ve done in the first place: _talk_ to her wife. If anything, Catra was going to be pissed that Adora kept it from her for so long.

 _And maybe I deserve that, but we’ll get there when we get there._ Because the next challenge for Adora was picking a time and a place to drop the bomb “Hey, I love you more than anything in the universe. Let’s have a baby.”

“Mommy really keeps the Super Evil Tome of Ancient Evil in the Throne Room?” As Adora reached the top of the hill, neither Catra nor Kai noticed her, too wrapped up in the story. Only Melog lifted their head, letting out a small purr of a greeting. 

“Duh,” Catra waved her hand, “Sea Hawk and me stuffed fifteen ghosts back in that thing. Could you imagine what would happen if it broke and all those ghosts got back out?”

“I fight them!” Kai championed, throwing his stick in the air. It stayed in the air for a few seconds before bouncing off Melog’s head. The alien blinked.

“If you say so little dude,” laughed Catra, “You just gotta make sure no one makes a mess of your mom’s throne room and breaks the Super Evil Tome of Ancient Evil.” 

Crossing her arms, Adora couldn’t help but smile. Melog had made their way over to her, growing to their usual size and wrapping themselves around her leg. “Hey Melog.” 

“‘Dora’s here!” Kai shouted out and Catra sat up, shaking the grass out of her short hair and making Adora smile in spite of herself. In preparation for the summer, Catra cut her mane again in a similar style to her post Horde Prime mindwipe haircut. No, Catra never cut it _that_ short or slicked back in that sickening surrender of autonomy and she never let it stay that length, choosing to grow it out each time before breaking out clippers and cutting it herself whenever the urge overtook her.

Adora fell a little more in love looking at her wife. “Is this where you guys have been this whole time?” 

“Catra’s playing with me!” was Kai’s answer as he rushed over and tackled Adora’s other leg.

“I see that,” she laughed. _Wow, he looks like Mermista._ Ruffling his hair, Adora tried to take a step with both Kai and Melog attached to her legs. “That’s really thoughtful of her- woah!” Adora tried to swing her arms forward in a vain attempt to catch her balance, but Melog and Kai had no plan to let go, and the next thing Adora knew her weight was shifting, her knees were collapsing, her chin was throbbing and her mouth was full of grass.

_OW._

Melog made a series of happy noises, Kai laughing from his position on top of their little pile. Lifting her head, Adora was met by a gold and blue irises, a sultry smile on Catra’s family as she laid on her elbows inches from Adora. “Hey Adora.”

“Hi babe,” Grass spilled from Adora’s mouth. 

“Okay come on, Kai, Melog, get off Adora. Give her some room.” Catra gestured. Melog returned to her side, and Kai wobbled off, giggling to himself still. Adora had to admit that he was way too adorable to be angry with and that the sound of his laughter squeezed her heart in a funny yet cruel way. 

“Ooh, I wanna show Adora the King Pirate crown I made. It’s over there!” Kai took a second to search, throwing his hands over his eyes in a very Sea Hawk move, before he bolted off running down the other side of the hill. “Be right back!”

Catra shouted after him, “Don’t go too far or your parents will kill me… and he’s gone.”

“You guys disappeared,” Adora started as she drew herself into a sitting position, tucking her knees under her. Catra splayed her legs out, tearing grass out of the ground with her claws and letting it fall from her fingers. A look came over her face when Adora said, “We were starting to get worried.”

“Pfft, we just took a little break, that’s all. Sea Hawk was passed out and Mermista was getting pissy Kai wouldn’t sit still, so I took him out here to burn some energy. It’s like, why bring a four year old to a party and feed him a bunch of sweets if you’re gonna be mad when he gets a little rowdy?” shrugged Catra, not meeting Adora’s eyes.Adora hummed in agreement, “Yeah, it is kind of ironic, since the whole party’s supposed to be _about_ children.”

“He’s definitely Sea Hawk’s kid,” Catra clicked her tongue. “ _So_ much energy.”

“Well I know that as freaked out Mermista and Sea Hawk are about where Kai is, they’re probably still grateful for a break.” Taking her hand, Adora searched Catra’s expression. There was something about it that seemed far away, like Catra had her foot in this reality and one in another. Maybe if Adora proceeded with caution she could learn-

“Yeah, well I know a thing or two about being the rowdy kid adults couldn’t stand, so.” Catra drifted off.

 _Oh._ Running her thumb against the grain of Catra’s fur, Adora let herself deflate, her wife’s words scratching up her heart. Choosing not to respond for the moment, the mental place Adora then found herself in was the same one that had plagued her as she stood under the canopy, fumbling around as she did anything to avoid any sign of wanting in mind.

It wasn’t like either of them could avoid talking about Shadow Weaver or the Horde, not when their relationship began there, fractured there, fractured _because_ of her, healed in spite of her. Shadow Weaver’s death was not the blessing Adora wanted nothing more than to make it out to be, but a discussion to be had over and over and over. At the end of the day, Catra and Adora had come to the conclusion after _years_ of ruminating that it was the last of her tricks, the last card up her sleeve that she only played as a way to remain in their lives and relationship. 

In the best and worst possible ways, their long time mentor and abuser made sure she stuck around. Shadow Weaver had given herself up as the ultimate sacrifice so that Catra could get Adora to the Heart, so that they could free the stored magic and defeat Horde Prime, so that they could live on. But like Shadow Weaver always said, sacrifice was never without cost and Shadow Weaver took herself out of the picture before it could be paid, leaving Adora and Catra with a heavy, uncompromising debt. 

_And we almost didn’t survive it._ Adora winced inwardly. This wasn’t the expression or emotion she anticipated to be hiding from her wife when she found her, but Adora averted her eyes from Catra all the same.

There was no irony in the way her ghost hung over their every interaction and every conversation like a shadow, and no mercy either. Shadow Weaver’s presence had ever been as unavoidable as it was in the months following her so called valiant sacrifice; she haunted their nightmares, she starred in their dreams, reminding both Catra and Adora of the seeds of doubt she worked tirelessly during their childhoods to plant and they’d wake up, wary of the other and untrusting of any affection.

With one hand gripping each one of their shoulders, Shadow Weaver held onto them from beyond the grave, and held them together in the poisonous atmosphere that followed any mention of her name. Like there was any doubt that was her last and final intention. At first, simple discussions meant to clear the air about her abuse turned into exhausting fights where accusations were thrown with reckless and unforgiving intention.

_“She never made me think I had a choice! Why can’t you get that?!”_

_“Because she’s dead Adora, she’s fucking dead, and you_ still _want to choose her!”_

Adora’s grieving of Shadow Weaver was so much louder than Catra could stand. As many times as Adora and Catra were told “grief was natural,” theirs was an unnatural grief, theirs was a two headed coin with grief on one side and shame on the other. 

_“You don’t grieve people who hurt you, who beat you, who make you small”_ , that’s what Catra said, those were the lies she told herself over and over and over. And so Adora tried to do what Catra wanted, to grieve in the quiet like Catra grieved in the dark, but all that really resulted in was an avoidance that put them back in different corners, seeing each other as an enemy to be coerced and defeated. Just like Shadow Weaver always wanted.

Catra ran off sometimes, like that night she left Adora to face the Heart and Prime on her own. Adora lost her connection to She Ra on more then one mission. Catra’s anger became too big for her body and she broke everything in her path until she was the only thing left, and then she broke herself. Adora panicked in the restrooms of different embassies on different planets, froze up when she was alone, and saw their old mentor in every shadow. Each time they came back to each other to rebuild, their unspoken stubbornness to ignore the cracks Shadow Weaver left- as if somehow that would make them disappear- left their foundation to grow weaker by the day. 

Rock bottom came to them when on the second anniversary of Shadow Weaver’s death, Adora and Catra hadn’t spoken to each other in a week, the result of an argument that threatened to bring their relationship to a permanent and pitiful end. Catra was scheduled to be appointed a Bright Moon General and there was a wildfire of rumors spreading through Etheria that Adora wouldn’t attend the ceremony. Whoever started the rumor was nameless, someone on Glimmer’s staff who wormed out of another member that Catra and Adora had started sleeping in separate rooms. 

The rumor got to Catra before Adora swallowed her pride long enough to break the silent streak. Never had she intended to skip her girlfriend’s ceremony, but to come and try and take responsibility. Having overdosed on guilt about the fight and wasting away her nights performing quiet, personal exorcisms of her false mother, Adora was on her third consecutive allnighter when she stumbled into the throne room in her old Princess Prom dress. A proud insomniac by that point. Adora attributed Catra’s stunned look upon seeing her to the fact that she looked more dead than alive.

Taking advantage of her slower than average reflexes, Catra grabbed by the wrist and pulled her into the hallway and the two of them were speaking over each other in apologies, begging for each other’s forgiveness, confusion abounding as to why Adora was even there and why Catra was confused about that. 

_“Wait,_ ” Adora held herself up, gripping both of Catra’s shoulders, wrist catching the edges of her new badge. She could see something then in Catra’s face she could not from the crowd during the ceremony, _“Are you not sleeping?”_

_“Maybe... maybe not.”_

_“I’m not sleeping.”_

_“R-really? Why not?”_

_“I’ve just… never really been good at sleeping by myself.”_ Adora had stood there and admitted in a whisper.

Catra just laughed at her, _“I think we need help, babe.”_

And so they got help. _Professional,_ not just advice from well intended friends help. Right after ditching the after party Glimmer was throwing to sleep in a pile- Adora on the bottom, Catra in the middle, Melog sprawled out on top- on the couch of the nearest available room.

Apparently that week they hadn’t been speaking, Catra took the initiative and spoke with Perfuma that their daily meditations and yoga sessions weren’t cutting it anymore, that she needed something stronger. Perfuma was more than happy to put her in touch with Fae, a Etherian healer registered with the Guild of Mental Guides. Once Catra began work with them, Adora followed _her_ example for once, chased the Plumerian Princess down and asked for one of her own.

Laurel had been seeing her off and on ever since. And as uncomfortable as those first sessions were with her Guide, Adora could say with confidence now she didn’t regret taking that step, only that she wished she’d been brave enough to do it earlier. Everyone was always saying she needed something like that anyway. Her issues with her anxiety, with all war trauma; those were her more curren works in progress (emphasis on _in progress)_ as they’d been put on the backburner so she at the time she could work through and conquer much closer shadows. Turns out all of it was connected, but who would have _ever_ guessed that?

Squeezing Catra’s hand, Adora pulled herself closer to her wife, offering her a smile that could maybe make up for her silence.

Adora didn’t regret becoming one of Laurel’s Guidees- as opposite, and terrifying, as it was to her internal nature- because those sessions in Laurel’s garden gave her space to grieve the closest person she had to a real mother, to work through and do her best to work through her shame, her anger, her confusion about Shadow Weaver’s cruel and unusual parenting methods. Laurel gave her the tools (and the much needed practice through rigorous roleplay) to speak to Catra about Shadow Weaver in a way that was survivable, understandable, and crucial as hell. Laurel’s guidance gave Adora the tools to speak to Catra about almost anything.

Of course Shadow Weaver’s ghost was never truly purged from their lives, no matter how well adjusted they became or how they worked together. Maybe it was because neither Catra or Adora believed she deserved to be forgiven, or that the action was even possible on their part; if that was the price they paid, then Adora figured they might as well open a tab, because forgiving that woman for keeping them apart for so many fucking years was going to come only _after_ the inevitable heat death of the universe Entrapta liked to bring up during every single mission to space. 

Ten years later, Adora and Catra were satisfied to live the majority of their lives in a space too far away for Shadow Weaver to wrap her ghostly tendrils of smoke around: acceptance. Acceptance that their first two decades on Etheria were decades of unrelenting conditioning, that Shadow Weaver’s love was conditional and that the conditions were always unachievable and always changing, the only true one was that Catra and Adora chose her over each other. Acceptance that the lives they had now were because _she_ faced that monster back in the bowels of Etheria. It was only a smidge less impossible than forgiveness, and it took work, but it was the only way either of them could keep moving away from the past. Deny it, and implode. Accept it, swallow it, however bitter the taste and live to survive another day to spite such a wretched poltergeist.

But there was always a catch. _Always,_ because apparently giving her life for the universe _wasn’t_ good enough. Adora found quickly that acceptance was a daily ritual because acceptance was not a place of permanence. Rather it was tectonic, shifting under the uncertainty of their own lives, slipping out from under the two of them right when it was needed most. Like when she and Catra got married. Laurel said major life events like that would dig up buried hatchets.

 _Like right now,_ Adora thought to herself, _maybe I should wait a few weeks before I bring up the kid thing, if she’s not in the right headspace. I need to be with her, wherever that is._

“I found it!” Ripped out of her stupor, Adora jumped, her shoulder bumping Catra’s as Kai appeared from behind the willow tree. In his hand was a clump of twigs Adora thought might be his attempt at a flower crown. Dandelions and stickers were packed amongst the shrubbery, a large maple stuck in the center. 

_Is that like... the crown jewel?_

“And you’re in one piece.” Catra sighed in relief. Gone was the split look in her eyes and Adora exhaled. Thank the Stars. She didn’t think she was up to talking about Shadow Weaver anyway, not when she’d been preparing a whole speech about the future.

“Adora, do you want to be the Pirate King?” asked Kai, holding up his misshapen circle of branches.

Adora perked up, “Ah, I get to be the Pirate King?”

Nodding, Kai stretched on his toes to place the crown on her head, making Adora extremely grateful she chose to wear her hair down today when, unsatisfied with his placement, the four year old moved it around her scalp for a solid minute.

"What gives, Captain K?” Catra knocked him lightly in the shoulder and he started giggling like he had a secret, “I thought _I_ was the Pirate King?” 

“Oh, am I _not_ good enough to be the Pirate King?” teased Adora. Catra rolled her eyes at her, a small smile on her face.

“I’m the _real_ Pirate King,” Kai pointed to himself with his stubby thumb, “You get to _play_ the Pirate King.”

Exchanging a look of amusement, Catra and Adora let out a laugh in tandem. _Yeah, this is_ a lot _better than watching party guests make weird vegan baby dolls._

“Okay, okay,” Catra threw her hands up in surrender and Adora nodded her head in agreement.

“Ooh, I’m gonna make ‘nother one!”

Adora crossed her legs, finding her wife’s hand again, and watched as Kai jumped up and down, hyper mind at work trying to find supplies for his newer crown. The little boy scurried back down the hill- again ignoring Catra’s warnings about coming back before she had Melog hunt him down- and Adora laughed in spite of herself, in spite of her want creeping back into the place she just pushed Shadow Weaver’s ghost out of. 

“He says “Pirate King” like it’s just one word,” Adora, trying to disguise her squirming as laughter, commented in hopes Catra would pull her out of this want with just the sound of her voice.

“He does!” squealed Catra, leaning into Adora’s shoulder as she laughed. “Pirate-ing. That’s what he says.”

“I know, I was a little confused at first. Context helped.” she said, pointing to her crown.

Catra’s bright smile was enough to put the stars and moons to shame, “Kid only hit the “k” like once!” 

“He’s adorable,” Adora trailed off. Okay, her first plan to ignore her want had failed her spectacularly. Like, fall on its face spectacular. Kai might have run off, pregnant Scorpia was nowhere in sight, and she was here with Catra, yet her want was heavier than ever, her thoughts betraying her with statements like _“if we had a baby, what words would they mispronounce?”_ Stupid, adorable thoughts. Stupid, adorable kids and their stupid adorable flower crowns.

In hindsight, that was probably expected. Having a wife made for an amazing distraction at times (a benefit to getting married during integrated treatment for severe anxiety), but Adora was putting too much on Catra by expecting her to take this want from her when it was hers alone to carry. How many times had Adora made the same mistake back with the original Best Friend Squad and she was pining _desperately_ for the woman that wanted to claw her throat out on the battlefield?

“What’s with that face?” that same woman, now holding her hand, asked out of nowhere.

Back in the present moment, Adora cursed herself. So much for masking her emotions and not being a bad, see-through wife. “What face?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Catra narrowed her eyes, an unreadable expression of her own meeting Adora’s, “I know that look. Something’s obviously bothering you.”

_Damn it!_

“Well, _so_ do you, babe.” And it wasn’t a fib to cover her butt. That look in Catra’s face that had taken her faraway from Adora’s reach was back and more present than ever. Earlier, Adora thought it was just about Shadow Weaver, but now… Now all Adora could think about was that Catra reacted like this the _last_ time Kai ran off. 

Curling a knee up to her chest, Catra wrapped her arms around it. Melog let out a lengthy meow and she sent him a look. “You’re full of shit, Melog,” she grumbled before the alien won their staring contest and Catra, throwing her head back, conceded, “Fine! It’s just… it’s just this whole _baby_ party thing. If I’m being really honest, I didn’t ditch to _just_ hang out with Kai.”

“Oh.” Adora bit her lip. “Was something about it bothering you? I mean, it was pretty weird, even for like, normal Etherian tradition.” 

_Don’t make this about yourself, do not make this about yourself._

“I dunno, it wasn’t so much the party, I guess? I just... I’m _really_ happy for Scorpia and- and Perfuma, because I know that Scorpia’s wanted to be a mom for like forever, but…” Again, Catra let the sentence hang in the air between. She wouldn’t meet Adora’s eyes. 

“But what?” Was it selfish for Adora to say the way this conversation was going was killing her? The ledge her emotions were always threatening to push her off of was looking much closer to the pavement the more Catra spook and gravity was going to throw Adora down onto it at an unforgiving velocity.

Catra whispered her next words as she rubbed her arm. “I’m kind of jealous.”

“Really?” gaped Adora, practically yelling her response and sending Catra’s ears straight up. “O-of Scorpia and Perfuma? Because they’re having a baby?”

When both Catra and Melog turned to look at Adora with expressions that read “ _Seriously? Did you just ask that?”_ Adora couldn’t help it. Her laughter burst out of her, and she doubled over, her Pirate’s crown falling forward beyond her bangs. 

“Are you _seriously_ laughing at me?” Catra swatted her in the back of her head with her tail and when Adora managed to calm herself down for a few seconds and looked up at her, her nostrils were flaring and her fists were balled.

“No, no- I’m not laughing _at_ you-” Adora tried to cover.

“I don’t understand! What about this is funny?” her wife demanded, grabbing Adora by the shoulders and pushing her down onto the grass. Adora’s neck hit a root, yet she kept giggling, “I tell you I want to be a mom, and that I want it to be with you, I-I confide in you and try to be vulnerable and you’re _laughing?”_

Adora snorted, “No, you did good, it’s just-”

“Just what, babe?” Catra tightened her grip on Adora’s wrists. ( _How awkward would it be if Kai came back right now,_ Adora couldn’t help but think, swept up in the implications of their positions and what this kind of… roughhousing usually led to). Her tail flicked above her, back and forth, back and forth.

“I want that, too.”

The admission hung in the air between the two of them for an eternity.

“...Really?” Catra asked in a deadpan. She sat back on her ankles, offering Adora a hand to pull her up. 

“Well yeah,” Adora gave a weak shrug, a smile slung across her face. With each breath she took, her chest became ten pounds lighter. The weight of the want she’d been carrying was leaving her at an abrupt but welcome pace; no more squirming, no more sitting with uncomfortable emotions, and no more pretending in front of Catra. It’s not like her acting skills would’ve backed her up in the long run anyway. “I’ve wanted it for a long time, a _really_ long time.”

Catra followed Adora’s gaze as it traveled up to the stickers and twigs tangled in her dirty blonde hair. “What- well, why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not exactly easy to bring up, Catra! Kids are a really big deal-”

“I know _that,_ ” Rolling her eyes, Catra brushed Adora’s excuse aside, “I mean why not say anything _now_? You said you were open to the possibility before we got married!”

“That’s… that’s true.” Adora deflated.

Wait, when had this become about her again? Forty five seconds ago this awkward conversation was pinned on _Catra_ not saying anything about having a baby, not _Adora._

Speaking of awkward conversations, Catra did have a point. As part of their wedding gift, Bow’s dads George and Lance had given them a dense scroll, packed with questions and topics she and Catra should discuss before they tied the knot ( _“What?”_ Lance had looked around when he was met with surprised stares from Catra and Adora, _“You girls are like family, and this list is a family secret! The secret to a happy marriage even_ after _your honeymoon!”)_ . Babies, kids, family. Topics all _extremely_ high on the list.

They just hadn’t spent a lot of time on _those_ specific topics when Catra was reading off the scroll, treating it more as just another checklist that needed to be completed in time for the ceremony because no matter how many times Adora asked the Princess Alliance for “a quiet and low-key wedding” no such event existed for a princess, much less the saviors of the universe. 

Adora didn’t even remember what Catra had even said back then. _Oh, so I can remember Catra was opposed to chocolate frosting and every single time she wanted to change the color scheme, but I_ can’t _remember what she said about having kids?!_ Propped up on her elbows and trying to tug the Pirate King Crown back, Adora was shocked Catra remembered what _she_ had said.

Not like it mattered much anymore, since Adora still had to come up with an answer for Catra _now._ Blue and gold irises digging into her, Adora let out a sigh packed with shame.

“It’s just… even though I’ve wanted it for a long time, I didn’t want to pressure you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

“Well aren’t you just the Princess of Chivalry,” Catra’s ears fell flat against her head, and rubbing her arm again she added, “I do get why you did that, and I guess it shows that I married the right person but,” Adora couldn’t help but smile, “You could’ve just asked, you know? It would’ve saved us some time, dork.”

“Uh, I _did_ ask, just now. And you could’ve too, so.” Adora, trying- and failing- not to laugh, shot back.

For a brief moment, Catra wrestled Adora back to the ground, a wild smile on her face. And Adora was ready for it, because she knew her wife was never one to shy away from a challenge. Not when they were seven and running around the Fright Zone playing some made up game, not when they were fractured versions of themselves, incomplete without the other and they tried to win wars in the names of tyrants, not when they were in the here and in the now, anticipating the future they once fought to the near death just to see the other side of.

“So… now what?” asked Catra, her voice tentative yet eager, as she rolled off Adora’s hips and braced herself against Melog’s back. 

_I have no idea._ Adora made a face. So preoccupied with just asking the question and preparing mentally for the answer, Adora didn’t allow herself to imagine a yes of any form, or what a yes would actually mean. It’s not like trying for a child was as simple for her and Catra as say, Sea Hawk and Mermista getting drunk one night and crashing the office of an underwater bar. But Etheria had other methods for family planning, or how else how would’ve Adora heard about them through the grapevine, and it was looking like spending a couple weekends researching was their next step. 

_If_ Catra wanted to start anytime soon.

“I guess... we continue this conversation?” Adora ventured. Catra’s mouth upturned and she reached for Adora’s hand, squeezing a few times before intertwining their fingers.

“Sounds good.” she nodded.

But right before Adora could dive in headfirst to that continuation, they were interrupted by the sound of small feet pounding up the hill, “‘Dora, ‘Dora! I need my crown back!”

“Oh, okay-” Adora started but Kai cut her off, silencing her with the wave of his new pretend sword, a much longer and fortified branch. 

“Hurry!” Kai ushered as Adora tugged, “Catra is coming to destroy our ship!”

“She is?”

“Oh, you didn’t know, Adora?” Up on her knees in an instant, Catra was right back in her imaginary battle against Captain Kai, “I’m going to board your ship and force all your crew to walk the plank!” Adora snorted. “Melog, charge!”

Assuming again their smallest form, Melog started up the chase against Kai. Adora watched, hands still tangled up in the crown dissolving in her hair, as Kai ran at Catra and Catra rolled over, feigning frustration and slow reflexes. Catra would give him a near miss, taunting Kai with a silly threat and he would bunch his fists up, trying not to laugh before charging to attack again.

Adora let out a content sigh, no heavy worries weighing her down, no place to be but this most perfect present moment. No longer did wanting a future like this, a future with Catra and a rowdy kid of their own, allude her.

It awaited her. 


	3. nothing grows when a house ain't a home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe… maybe because you’re having a daughter, you’re remembering what it was like to be a daughter?” Perfuma finished, squeezing Catra’s knee again right before she had a chance to pull it away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> The fic lives on! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your initial support! I had a lot of doubts about the story, but thanks to your support I now have enough faith to continue! I’ve enjoyed writing this story so much, so the fact that I get to continue is just amazing!
> 
> To everyone who read, gave kudos, wrote a comment and subscribed, THANK YOU X 100!
> 
> General warning in this chapter for mentions of abuse and PSTD.  
> Also, I would never assert that Catra would be a bad mother because she’s made mistakes in her past, but I did however, have a really interesting time dissecting how she sees herself in light of those bad mistakes and how they would influence her typical parental worries. I can’t stress enough that I believe Catra will be a good mom, but she doesn’t believe that yet. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading!

**_The Command Center; Eight Minutes Apart, fifty-five seconds (roughly)_ **

Childbirth doesn’t scare Catra. 

Not even in this moment, as she does her best to keep the heaving and panting to a quiet minimum riding out the tail end of her latest, bitchiest contraction, does she even shudder at the mere thought of enduring this for a single moment longer. Anger stirs at the bottom of her heart, eating away at it like the acid reflux that’s plagued since the second her body registered its new task of creating a person, but the familiar emotion is triggered less by the pain and more by the circumstances that demand she give birth in the _worst_ place possible, that her wife is half a planet away throwing herself into the fire, that the next hours Catra will spend dripping blood and mucus and amniotic fluid are the _way_ she has to bring her child into the world (Seriously? What evolutionary process thought _this_ was a safe way to deliver new beings at their squishiest and most vulnerable?!) but anger is more her M.O. Her frequent and current crutch. Anger will get Catra through this better than the flimsy and false safety net of fear.

Taking a deep breath, Catra plants her palms on the expansive control panel that takes up the east wall and forces her eyes to focus on the layout of screens in front of her. Soldiers are starting to waltz, their annoying and intrusive curiosity tailing them, in and out of the C.C now that their Queen has subdued Bright Moon’s Runestone, brought back to the Whispering Woods by Catra’s last order two-ish something contractions ago. She’s starting to regret ordering the 2nd battalion to rendezvous back at the C.C. before moving onto Plumeria. Not like Catra needed more of an audience than that of a certain hovering and annoyingly perceptive King. 

Look, Catra knows that as soldiers they are required to check in with their commanding officer (her), but what about the tension in her facial muscles is screaming, _“_ Yes! _Please,_ ask me how my day is going!”

It’s taking _everything_ in Catra to keep a straight face and concentrate on the mission despite her progressing labor. Okay, yes, her contractions are coming at regular intervals and the pain of each new one redefines the word, so she can admit it: this is the _real_ thing. The profoundly real moment she and her wife have waited thirty-eight weeks for, thought they were prepared for, only to trip right before the finish line.

Catra just can’t see the logic in saying anything to anyone about being in labor, not right now at least. Just because the Surge hit the Heart Blossom an hour ago does not mean it’s showing any signs of letting up; actually the opposite, if the calculations feeding onto the screens in front of Catra aren’t shit for an accurate prediction. Etheria’s armies, Princesses, and people are _counting_ on her to keep her head on straight and find them a way out of this. What good is it going to do Glimmer, or Perfuma, or Frosta… or She Ra, if Catra demands they stop everything and turn their attention in her direction when her water hasn’t even broken? 

_This is natural, labor is natural, this pain is natural and there’s no reason to freak,_ Catra tells herself over and over as she talks herself through the end of the contraction, her thoughts taking on Adora’s voice and cadence without Catra’s permission. Tail twitching and face grimacing, Catra lets out a scoff. Talking her through the contractions _was_ supposed to be Adora’s job, but of course she isn’t here. Adora’s off saving the world! Why would she be around to hold Catra and promise her everything will be okay, that their baby will be okay, that all three of them will survive this, together, as a family? Ten months ago the both agreed Etheria’s needs were superior to their family’s, and so why would Adora forgo her duties as She Ra just to stick around and hold Catra’s hand, reminding her the entire that there’s nothing to be scared of?

Now that Catra’s marked her last contraction at a rough fifty five seconds with another equally fun one to look forward to in the next eight minutes, Catra thinks it might be time to reverse her stance on childbirth and start being scared.

_I can do this,_ she tries to tell herself, one gloved hand resting over her belly. But those words don’t even sound real to her at this point, Catra’s beat the mantra to death.

“Incoming message from Perfuma,” Bow’s voice snaps Catra back to reality.

“Holding,” she responds, gingerly taking her claws out of the carving her last contraction created in the control panel’s metallic structure.

Catra’s ears stand up at the _Bing!_ the sound of War Table receiving a foreign signal. As she turns around in her chair (yes, she caved about the whole sitting down crap. It was hard not to when it was hellfire in her uterus and Bow, anxious in how own way, was breathing down her neck, so by they time the sent Entrapta out on a skiff to meet up with Frosta in Bright Moon, Catra lumbered herself into the most cushioned chair in the embassy Bow could get his hands on. Thank the fucking Stars it had wheels) Perfuma’s voice, an edge too frantic for Catra’s irritated liking, begins to filter through.

“Okay, okay, okay, okay!” the Princess repeats, cranking up the shrill each time, “Uh, report: we are experiencing mild to severe tremors here. There are several fractures that have broken through the surfaces, and the Heart Blossom seems to be forcing them farther open with quickly growing roots-”

“ _Bad_ fractures?” Bow, eyes wide, searches the War Table for Perfuma’s green pin hovering over the projection of Plumeria he’s enlarged.

“Not um, not necessarily- Aster, you can not prop up the door with the Ceremonial Clay Vases- sorry, Bow, just give me one second,” again Perfuma interrupts herself and Bow and Catra exchange a look of concern as the Princess screams, “Emeraldia, you need to get _away_ from the walls, go to the _center_ of the room, my vines won’t keep the house up for much longer!”

Okay, Catra’s heard enough. What is it with Princesses and notoriously bad strategy in the face of disaster? _I have to do everything around here, on top of giving birth apparently. As if that wasn't demanding or exhausting enough!_ “Perfuma, are there any civilians left in the kingdom?” she enunciates every word over the other woman’s screaming.

“I said _center_ \- oh, um, no! We got everyone out right before the Heartblossom started acting up, just like you said Catra.” finishes Perfuma.

Catra sticks her tongue out at Bow, earning her a super mature eye roll from the king.

“I just have a few of my advisors with me, but Bright Moon soldiers are taking everyone else to the shelter near the edge of Salineas.”

“Good, Mermista isn’t in the Surge’s path. Listen,” in that moment, Catra’s voice takes up the entire space around them. As she falls back into the role of commander, her body falls back into her own control. Gone is her anticipation for the next wave of pain, the fixation on what’s happening below her hips. She wields the whole room with just her words, “Bright Moon is under control, so I’m sending Netossa, Spinerella and Adora your way. Adora will help you recalibrate the Runestone, but until then need to use your magic to keep the fractures from getting out of hand. The last thing we need is more Plumerian property damaged after this.”

A few inputs into a keypad resting right beneath her fingers are all it takes for Catra to reset the projected animation. She hits enter, and the hovering dark pink and dark blue pins follow the gold one to Plumeria’s place on the map. This simple action will send her new orders to the pins of Princess they’ve deployed; Catra and Entrapta might’ve incorporated an old Horde trick or two to keep in communication with the Princess Alliance, including designing formal pins that acted as both GPS trackers and holographic maps. The pin would receive the signal from the War Table, and all the Princess had to do was tap it twice to project their new target. 

An ingenious method of communicating without actually speaking, Catra is no more grateful for the aptly named Correspondence Pins than she is right now, pushing herself and her chair closer to the War Table with one foot. If say, the Alliance relied on a more verbal method to relay orders and update to each other, and if Catra were to hear Adora’s voice…her fingers form a fist that rests on her knee.

_She’ll get back here in time. We_ have _time. I have the situation under control, and right now we need She Ra._

Catra’s ears flick in annoyance when she hears Melog mutter a small noise of dissent and she doesn’t have time to shoot back a “ _Um, what do mean by ‘who’s we?’”_ before Perfuma is responding.

“Okay, stop the roots from spreading and doing more damage and wait for backup. I can do that.”

“We’re gonna get through this, Perfuma” Bow, arms crossed and gaze glued to the table, tells her. It’s both an order and a promise.

Catra inputs another command code. “I’m going to keep Swifty in Bright Moon to assist Glimmer. Perfuma, if you need more back up, radio us again. I have Entrapta and Frosta in the Whispering Woods standing by.”

“Okay- I mean, roger- I mean-” the Princess’s affirmation is interrupted by a loud _BANG!,_ the vibrations of which are enough to shake the table and send a wave of static through the map projection, “I’m sorry, Bow, Catra, I have to go! The roots are reaching the village-”

“Go, Perfuma!” Neither Bow or Catra hesitate as they speak together. 

“Thank you both-” the transmission ends, cutting Perfuma’s voice like a blade through steel.

Letting out a sigh that lasts a beat and a half, Bow stretches and puts his arms behind his head. These are the moments that cut to the bone, the moments where the silence left behind by a Princess or soldier in danger seeps and sets into every molecule in the room, until the air is thick with the reality they aren’t there on the battlefield to protect their friends. And Bow’s lucky enough to stand as a last resort, to grab his quiver and bow and not look back. Catra, not exactly in any shape to fight, can’t say the same.

A patronizing purr from Melog cuts through the heavy atmosphere and when Catra turns around to look at her animal companion, their tail is moving gentle back and forth. 

_I am_ too _in shape to lead!_ her thoughts scream in their general direction only for the tail movements to continue. _Oh, you’re trying_ this _now? Staring at me and blinking like you know everything? I told you, we’re not having this conversation and we’re_ not _getting Adora. Not right now._

“What’re the odds that’s gonna end badly?” Bow asks gesturing towards the table, effectively disseminating the silence.

“You’re asking _me_ if that’s going to end badly?” scoffs Catra. In the dark still (or so she hopes) about her contractions, her circumstantial irony is lost on him, and her question’s meaning rides on old jokes about the impulsive thinking that ruled her a lifetime ago.

“I mean,” Bow continues, “Perfuma’s way more than powerful enough to hold her own. She should be fine until Netossa and Spinerella and Adora get there.”

Catra plants her foot back on the ground and uses her low center of gravity to swivel her chair around. As Melog’s stare drills holes into her soul- Catra shields her arm over her belly in an unconscious move- she pushes herself back to the control panel, searching the mass of monitors for any potential updates. Several chimes can be heard from the war table, the Princesses responding to the new orders. 

“Are you asking,” Catra clicks a button beneath the control panel with her claw. A compartment hidden in the internal structure opens with a quiet _swish!_ and she digs around the stash of food she knows the soldiers keep stocked before pulling out an apple. “or telling?”

“Both, I guess.”

Catra bites down into the apple instead of responding. Given that her internal clock has her no less than six minutes out from another contraction, Catra has no room in her own freak out queue to placate Bow’s anxiety about the Princesses and the planet when his well adjusted mentality will provide him the means to self soothe anyway. Catra has to utilize this time to eat and try to recuperate as much energy as her body decided it could spare, keeping her eyes on the monitor and processing the bits and pieces of information about a storm gathering above Scorpia’s kingdom and the movement of the Clone’s battalion toward designated civilian shelters.

_Snack? Check. Stay busy? Check. Cope with the fact that I’m giving birth and only hours out from meeting my baby and that absolutely none of it’s going to plan?_

Behind her, Melog meows a distinct “ _No check.”_

Catra and Adora had been planning this day since their Mystacoran midwife sat them down in that worn down little hut of hers and explained in a series of grunts what all delivering a baby actually entailed. The three stages of labor, cervix dilation, broken waters, every spectacular sensation Catra sits on the cusp of now. That intensive and uncomfortably honest session about the wonders- and limitations- of her uterus and vagina was one of many she and Adora lined up before Catra was to undergo the magic that would allow her to conceive; between back and forth sessions with Fae and Laurel, the two figured their best shot at getting this right was to have all of their bases covered. _All_ of their bases. 

It helped that her wife never half-assed anything in her life, and was not about to half-ass being a mom. Or let Catra take all the glory for creating their kid, that is. Like it was a drill, a battle strategy, she and Adora went through their plan for her delivery until each of them could recite it in their sleep. Preparing for this day was comparable to preparing a defense; between the two of them, they’d read every book about pregnancy (Adora went so far as to use her linguistic skills to read old First One’s text about childbirth), they attended birthing classes every other week, Catra let Scorpia talk her ear off and got tips from Mermista, and back in their little house in the Whispering Woods, Adora worked her butt off to build a little birthing suite to Catra’s comfort. 

Closing her eyes, Catra pictures that room where her daughter’s _supposed_ to be born in just mere hours. The “Nest” as Adora’s taken to calling it. Not because she finds Catra in there meditating/sitting on the plush cot talking to their unborn kid or anything.

_Just keep together a little longer,_ her claws dig into the half an apple she’s holding, juice running down her wrist guard and sticking to her fur, _help Adora and the rest of the Princesses clean up this mess, and then you can go home and be gross and undignified there. You can meet your baby there. We’re not failing her before she even gets here._

Catra strokes her belly, laughing to herself despite the fallacy she’s _not_ going to fail her baby; hasn’t she already by going into labor in the most unsantitized room this side of the Whispering Woods during a planetary emergency? Time might be on Catra’s side and there might still be a chance she can get this back on track, but her head is dizzy with heat, the apple shaking slightly in her hand.

Her heart begins to beat a little faster.

How fucking lucky did they get this time around that Catra’s the pregnant one, and _not_ the other way around? A Surge tearing through Etheria on the last day of her pregnancy is all the proof Catra could’ve used eleven months ago and she’ll definitely being using it to justify the big, fat “I told you so,” her wife is gonna get the second they’re back in the Nest and the midwife is all but tearing all of Catra’s clothes off. Because yet again, Catra was and is always right. No way the planet or the universe will ever be done making She Ra do its dirty work.

Those first conversations about having a baby are eternity behind Catra, but she reaches back to the comfort of them all the same. That admission of wanting to try for a child beneath morphs before Catra’s eyes into the memory of the argument that same night in their kitchen while doing the dishes together, the corner of her mouth turning upwards as she remembers the shock on Adora’s face.

_“I’ll do it. Carry the baby, I mean.”_

The dish Adora was holding slipped through her fingers like that.

_“That is_ not _what I thought you were going to say.”_

_“Wow, you really did just assume that_ you _were going to?”_

Looking back, Catra regrets going to such a defensive place so early in the conversation. Immature, uncalled for, deflective; yeah, it was all those nasty things and more. Every little trick of deceit Fae- and Melog- would catch and correct Catra on. No wonder their innocent conversation became an argument when Catra practically pulled the pin on that grenade herself.

Adora, ignoring the broken pieces of the dish at her feet, dug her heels in. _“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to, Catra! I was just trying-”_

_“I’m sorry,”_ Catra scoffed, tail standing on end, _“why wouldn’t I want to?”_

Not by any means their _worst_ miscommunication, yet like always Catra chose to run off instead of sticking around to say what she really meant. What she really wanted. What she was really afraid of. If it wasn’t for the years of practice Adora had under her belt in knowing to give Catra twenty one minutes- that’s the amount of time they agreed upon with Fae and Laurel- before coming to where she was in the bedroom… well, Catra knows a dodged bullet when one flies through the air. 

_“You know why it has to be me right?”_ Those were the words that came out of her mouth, a quiet whisper cutting through the dark between them, as Adora sat on the other side of the bed, her back to her and mouth shut. ‘Cause Laurel deterred Adora from speaking first in their fights. ‘Cause Fae pressed Catra to be the person to reach across. 

The light pouring in from the window framed their shadowed silhouettes.

Even in her current state Catra can remember the discomfort _radiating_ off her wife as she struggled not to say anything and then, struggled not to say the _wrong_ thing. _“Not really.”_

_“Adora,_ ” Catra almost laughed, turning around in the bed to face her, _“you’re_ She Ra. _You can’t exactly run off and compromise that for nine plus months. It’s not like we’re out of the woods with this whole galaxy peace thing.”_

_“You don’t know that! We’ve been working our connection with planets for almost nine years, and it’s paying off! I mean, when was the last time we had to_ fight _someone?”_ protested Adora. In her voice Catra could tell she meant every word she said, that she genuinely believed they could get away with ignoring her universe approved destiny for their own selfish desires.

_“Look, I’m not saying that She Ra is all your good for or anything, and I’m not saying that it’s pointless not to take advantage of what we’ve worked our asses off for, but what if we risk the peace we have because you do this instead of me?”_ Claws trailed lightly over bare skin, Catra’s hand closing around Adora’s bicep as her head fell and bumped Catra’s forehead. A minute passed as Catra’s reasons sunk into the air around them.

_“I guess I see the point you’re making,”_ a small smile danced on Adora’s face, _“She Ra is kind of a full time gig. Okay. I’ll let you do this Catra, but please can you give me one_ good _reason?”_

So that’s how Adora won _that_ argument. Okay, she didn’t win it _right_ then and there, but Catra figures that was the moment she completely forfeited the upper hand. If she ever had it against her best friend, her partner in crime, the love of her life turned wife who knew her too well, always seeing through her like Melog was granting her transparency. 

_“I just gave you a reason.”_ Catra responded in a deadpan, hiding her tail behind her legs where Adora couldn’t see- and cheat.

_“Mmm, I just think you kinda sounded like me.”_

Catra may not have laughed then, but she laughs now around the last pieces of her apple core. Adora’s not here to distract and actually make her laugh at the batshit absurdity of it all, so this is the next best thing until they are both back home and Adora’s holding her, being the brightest force in the room and the only thing that could manage to outshine the pain.

Four minutes out. 

Breathing in for four seconds and out for three, Catra goes back to the safe place remembering. Hey it’s not the birthing strategy her midwife would recommend, or anything like what all those doulas that taught her- ha! How _pissed_ would they be with her right now- but it works, and it beats staring at a computer screen waiting for the news her wife is in battle against a magical tree. 

_"I did not!”_

_“You did, I know what an Adora cop out sounds like, I’m the Princess of them-”_ Adora continued teasing until Catra pulled away, letting out a grunt and flicking the back of Adora's head with her tail for good measure. 

_“Fine! You want your stupid reason, you wanna know why I want to do it?”_ Catra ground her teeth before letting the words burst out of her like cannon fire, “ _It doesn’t always_ have _to be you, Adora! I thought I told you that a long time ago.”_

Adora’s face fell. The compassion in her expression that Catra spent her adolescence telling herself wasn’t there, wasn’t real, cut so deeply it could’ve made Catra bleed. _“Catra, I_ -”

_“You aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about this a lot, okay Adora? It doesn’t have to be you, sometimes it can be_ me. _Sometimes I_ want _it to be me. And I know you sometimes still think you have to take every hit for me, but what if this isn’t a hit? What if it isn’t a sacrifice?”_ Catra spoke past the lump in her throat.

_“I’m sorry that I did that. Again.”_ whispered Adora. At some point in her delivery of her “one good reason” Adora had pulled Catra closer.

_“You maybe don’t get it because you’re She Ra, and She Ra is this god who’s whole purpose is to heal and protect things. You brought_ magic _back to all those planets. But me? I’ll my purpose or destiny or whatever has been for… is destruction.”_

_“Catra, no-”_ Her words packed the punch of an agony known only by the vacant atmosphere of a long extinct space empire.

_"I want to do the opposite of destroy for once,”_ Catra almost begged as she pushed past Adora’s protest, her knees digging into the duvet. She held both her wife’s hands in her own. _“I wanna be the one to bring our child into the world._ Our _child, Adora. I can’t think anything in this stupid universe more amazing than thought of our kid. So now that we have that chance, I’m asking you to let me take it.”_

If there was any statement that demonstrated how far Catra had come from being that 19 year old headcase surviving on nothing but spite and an endless list of vendettas to a functioning adult that built a life worth living, it was that bombshell she dropped on her wife. Headcase Catra would’ve screamed something about Adora taking this opportunity away from her, not shown a practiced and earned grace, the result of endless Guide sessions confronting every false version of herself. That progress had to count for something, right?

_Three minutes,_ a voice in her brain signals and Catra’s grip on the apple core tightens in anticipation. Melog weaves circles around her chair, tail catching the bottom of her belly with each orbit, pawing at their face and ears as if to hold up a mirror to Catra’s decaying state of calm. Yet Catra refuses to throw Melog a bone with one single second of eye contact. The only Adora she chases after in this moment is the Adora from her memories.

_“Okay,”_

_“Wait,”_ Catra tripped over the word, _“You’re not going to keep fighting me on this? Who are you and what have you done with Adora?”_

Rolling those ocean blue eyes of hers, her wife just smiled and shook her head, speaking almost breathlessly “ _I just wanted to have a family with you, Catra. It never mattered to me_ how. _I just know that your work at the Embassy was the most important thing to you and didn’t want what I wanted to get in the way.”_

Princess of Chivalry, indeed.

_“Idiot,”_ Catra kissed her lips, _“I can’t believe you’d think any those dumb peace treaties or rankings could actually be more important than you.”_

_“Oh,_ I’m _the idiot?”_ giggled Adora and Catra, dazed and drunk on her, nodded against her forehead.

_“Mhmm.”_

_“You’re the one who thinks all she’s ever done is destroy stuff.”_

_“I_ did _destroy stuff.”_ Catra reminded her.

_“A long,_ long _time ago, Catra but it was never who you really were and it’s definitely not the person you are now,”_ said Adora, lifting Catra’s chin up with her hand, _“I don’t have any problem with you carrying our baby if that’s really what you want-”_

_“It_ is.” 

_"But it won’t be the first time you’ve created something instead of destroyed it. You are the mastermind behind the last ten years of peace we’ve had. The Embassy-”_ Adora kissed her nose, _“Salineas-”_ her jaw, _“you helped Glimmer reverse the portal-”_ neck, _“you even helped me build our home.”_ Lips. 

Adora kissed her for the longest time, speaking Catra’s chosen language of touch and affection rather than the clumsiness of words, pouring every sentiment she couldn’t say into that moment between them. Catra chose to let herself believe Adora there in her arms, chose to believe she truly achieved atonement and was not a vast collection of flaws cast onto her years ago by those who could not love her.

There weren’t anymore discussions about pregnancy or babies, about anything, for the rest that night. They didn’t finish the dishes either.

“Rreow.” a heavy paw on her knee forces Catra’s eyes open and she finds herself smack back in the present, face to face with an expectant Melog.

“What?” Catra growls, daring to butt her head against theirs, when the force of the next contraction crashes over her like a violent, unforgiving wave. The only barrier keeping her from collapsing is Melog; the alien creature stands on Catra’s knees and licks her face as she keeps one hand locked in their shoulder. As she fights the urge to throw her head back and scream, letting everyone in the C.C in on her little secret, Catra lets a hiss escape her throat. “Oh, _that.”_

_Fuck, I lost track of the minutes- fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!_ The apple core slips from her hands before she can crush it in her fist.

Every time another contraction starts, Catra thinks that surviving the last one by the skin of her teeth means she’ll be ready for whatever the next one brings. As the seconds start to creep by, the swell of pulverizing pressure takes Catra’s presumed confidence as the challenge it is, turning up the degree of force in response to her hubris. Tears prick her eyes, her breath coming out as hushed pants. 

This is what Catra wanted, isn’t it? To be the creator and not the destroyer for once? Setting here confined to this chair with only the metal of the control panel to dig her claws in? This is what Catra never batted an eye at, stared down and dared to say she wasn’t scared because she _knew_ pain? 

Beaten, electrocuted, suffocated, crushed, drowned. Catra’s body, a.k.a the perfect conduit for whatever blow nature could drive, remembers all those years of never ending pain, broken bones and healing ribs and wounds to lick clean in the dark, in this moment only to have it pair in comparison to the most amazing thing in the stupid universe: her _baby_.

_Kiddo, please,_ Catra begs her baby as if the unborn child has any actual control and isn’t at the mercy of the worst possible timing because like mother, like daughter. Her shaking hand slips as it travels down her belly. A couple of days ago, Catra would’ve given _anything_ to fast forward through the last few weeks of her pregnancy, the sleepless nights and the crushing weight on her bladder and there wasn’t anything that made the discomfort worth it or excited her more than the thought of that first time holding her daughter there against her chest.

Now Catra would bargain her soul for more time to do this right way, to do right by her child.

To add insult to impending injury, something beyond Catra’s control reaches for Adora again. She can practically hear her wife whispering to her, _“It’s okay to be scared, Catra.”_

_I’m not scared!_ Catra sucks in a breath and her grip on Melog tightens tenfold. Time around her has slowed down; there’s no resource in her left to search the room to see if anyone’s caught on to her fragmenting charade. _This isn’t fair! You’re supposed to be here, Adora! We’re supposed to do this together. And now I’m losing control._

The wave migrates at a rate that’s downright cruel towards her pelvis. Behind the hazy reality of the pain, the competition of Catra’s emotions has her paralyzed. Every beat of her heart sends another staggering pulse of anger laced with white hot fear through her body; furious as she is at Adora, Catra knows the truth. She knows that if she were to hit that button on the War Table and say “Hey babe, hurry up fixing the planet because the baby’s coming. Oh, and don’t die,” into Adora’s comm, she’d effectively break her wife and risk Etheria all in one bold, extremely selfish move. She knows Adora, and knows that Adora would find herself caught if she knew it was time for the _real_ thing between dropping everything just to get back to her and keeping the promise she made when she took up the mantle of Princess of Power. Distracted by Catra and the baby, Adora’s fighting would become sloppy and uncoordinated or worse, she could lose her connection to She Ra and compromise both her life, the lives of the Alliance, and everyone on the damn planet.

And Catra’s angry because of what she knows is hiding behind that anger at her wife and their real baby and their planet baby. It wasn’t childbirth Catra was ever scared shitless of, as terrifying as it is to reckon with it _alone,_ but every moment that comes _after_ her baby is born. Every possible moment that Catra could mess up as a mom, and make her child hate her. What if it’s already too late? What if those pivotal moments started the second her contractions did?

Just the thought of confusion and suffering in eyes Catra’s yet to see before sends a stake straight through her heart.

_Adora promised, she_ promised _she would be here to keep that from happening and that she would make sure I wouldn’t mess up. Is my baby going to hate me-_

Something warm and slobbery stops Catra before she can finish that sentence. Melog is running their tongue up Catra’s face, cleaning the tears as the last faltering seconds of her contraction leave her drained and vulnerable. She pushes herself up on the ledge of the control panel and looks over the monitors in an attempt to re-calibrate back to a post-contraction Catra, General Catra, an in control Catra. Purring, Melog sends warmth through her body when they lay her head down on the top of her belly.

_“Not too late,”_ they tell her in a quiet voice. Catra rubs their left ear, smiling as she tries in vain to suck her snot back up without anyone noticing. She’s pretty sure the thought of doing this without Melog would, without a doubt, kill her. _“Can still get Adora.”_

“Oh c’mon,” Catra scoffs.

The _swish!_ of the anterior doors opening cuts off another play of the “Get Adora” argument. Melog’s stubbornness is enough to rival Catra’s and they never fail to be _right_ there when her contractions taper off to remind her that her wife’s not there- but could be if she just sent new orders to She Ra’s Correspondence Pin. Catra never fails to remind Melog that the more focused Adora is on saving the world, the sooner she can get it done, and the faster they will all be back at the Nest welcoming in blood and bodily fluids the newest addition to their family.

“Send all reports back to the Command Center so we can make sure the Princesses and other captains are notified. Until then, orders are to continue coordinating civilian movements with the Queen.” Catra’s ear flicks at the sound of Bow’s voice as he enters the room. She can hear him, the scent of his collected composure not enough to block out the sweat diluting the Bright Moon captain he walks side by side with. 

Oh so _that’s_ how Catra got away with having a full on meltdown during a contraction. It’s hard to alert someone to her labor when no one is around to see her barely holding back tears and tearing up sheet metal with her claws.

Out of the corner of her eye, Catra watches the soldier bow to their king before exiting again through the doors. Bow lets his posture fall for a brief moment before he stretches out and yawns, ignorant to the way Catra turns around back towards the control panel before he can see the wretched state of her.

“So,” chipper despite his exhaustion, Bow starts and Catra’s tail starts twitching when he begins walking toward her, “have you decided on a name?”

“Hmph. Like I’d tell you, Arrows.” Catra smirks. The King’s expression crumbles. 

“Ah man, I really thought that was going to work.” mumbles Bow.

Catra manages to make her voice light enough to tease him as Melog assumes a standing position next to her. “It was a nice try, though.” 

“I don’t get why you and Adora are being so cryptic about this,” he whines, coming to lean on the control panel. Catra shifts her hips and spreads her legs out in a vain attempt for comfort, but her entire body protests the effort. “Do you know how many personalized items I could’ve embroidered by now if I just had her name?”

“Why can’t you just embroider all that crap _after_ she’s born?” And more importantly, why is it the ultimate Etherian sin that she and Adora want to keep their baby’s name a secret? It’s not like this was _their_ family or anything. 

“True, but then she wouldn’t have the whole Uncle Bow set to be there for her on the day she’s born!” Bow says that like it’s the most exciting event on the horizon and for a brief second, Catra’s heart twists with guilt. If it weren’t for Bow and Glimmer’s support and respect, Catra figures her pregnancy would’ve been that much harder to keep everyone else’s nose out of. As the other half of the Best Friend Squad, the King and Queen had been the first to know about her and Adora’s plans (‘cause Adora blew it by calling Catra her “baby mama” on a designated Movie Night at the castle opening up a _world_ of questions) and worked in tandem to make sure Catra could get her ambassador work finished before her due date. Or the day that got moved up to today, that Bow is still blissfully unaware about since Catra’s still lying through her teeth.

“Hey I know,” Bow rubs his jaw, a look on his face that already has Catra generating a retort, “what if I guess? It won’t be like you told anyone if I get it right, right? Is it Ashen?”

“What? No-” Catra looks around in shock only to find the Command Center is one hundred percent empty besides the two of them standing by the control panel. The War Table is vacant of any usual bystanders. How did this happen? Aren’t they supposed to be leading Etheria through the Surge?

“Raven? Star? Nari?”

“No, no, and no.”

Catra turns her attention back to the monitors as Bow continues to list names, her hand resting on her belly. Beyond the incoming messages about civilian needs and Entrapta’s made-for-the-public-eye Surge Log, Catra doesn’t see anything new or anything about the movements of She Ra or the magical energy ravaging Plumeria. It dawns on her amidst the terrible names that Bow comes up with (Catra already feels bad for the future Bright Moon heir) that if he _really_ doesn’t know, it means Adora didn’t squeal like Catra bet she would. Her wife kept her end of the deal. 

_Adora did everything I asked her too since I said I was going to be the one to do this,_ Catra’s guilt returns with a force almost enough to match her earlier, more mild contractions as she glances down to where her hands rest, _leave it to me to fumble the baton and drop it this close to the fucking finish line._

It’s pretty much impossible for Catra not to think about her wife right now, not with Bow off in the background sticking “ra” to whatever word he can think of to make it sound like a real name and Melog sitting in front of her, head tilted and eyes too knowing for their own good. 

Convinced she was put on the planet to please, Adora spent the first months of Catra’s pregnancy scratching the itch that was her martyrdom complex. She cooked, did more than her fair share of work on the house, buried herself in pre and postnatal research, she met every single one of Catra’s weird pregnancy symptoms with the preparation only an ex soldier could know. If Catra asked for space, Adora would happily leave her alone. If Catra asked for the opposite of that… well, Adora was up to _any_ task, and never had her wife shied away from a challenge.

Every aspect of being pregnant- the cravings, the mood swings, the slow loss of her range of motion and overtaking of her entire body- was so much harder than Catra ever could’ve anticipated and much more taxing than any talk from a midwife could’ve prepared her for. Without the steady growth of her daughter and the sheer wonder she brought to their lives to remind Catra that the benefits would _far_ outweigh the sacrifices, the entire experience would’ve been reduced from its place of wonder and hope to a series of little moments straight from hell. Without Adora, those little moments would’ve been that much bigger.

“Mira? Nora? Alessandra?” Bow keeps guessing, “Am I getting warmer or colder?”

Catra sighs and lets her head rest on the back of her chair, her hand coming to rest on Adora’s pin. Following suit, Melog lays their head against her knee and their metallic purring fills Catra’s ears. 

“Samara? Cyra? Cassandra? Alright, I’m running out names here. Catra, can I _please_ have a hint?”

Eyes once again meeting Melog’s, Catra can practically hear Adora in her head, laughing at Bow’s desperate antics. If Adora was here- like she was supposed to be- Catra knows she’d be saying something like “he’s never gonna get it,” just to get a laugh out of her. Because that’s what this whole labor and delivery ordeal was _supposed_ to be; Adora filling up the spaces between Catra’s contractions rotating different birthing positions, distracting her with idle and pointless conversations and even worse jokes until the midwife told them Catra was fully dilated, not Catra putting her internal clock to use just so she doesn’t miss another wave of pain, too busy calculating what positions her third and ninth battalion need to be in to catch the last half of the Surge. 

Clutching the pin until the winged tip is almost breaking skin, Catra closes her eyes and drowns everything else out. _Hurry, Adora. Please. I know the planet needs She Ra right now, but I need_ you. _We need you._

“Hey,” a soft voice and hand on her shoulder break Catra from her quiet prayer, “you okay?”

Catra shifts in her chair to see Bow standing over her. Eyes no longer sparkling with the mischief or the childish intent to bother her, his expression of sympathy reminds Catra she’s still in the company of friends. “Yeah, I just… it’s just being in the third trimester. It’s hard to focus on anything right now.”

What was that, like her fourteenth chance to come clean? How many more times is Catra going to put her pride over the potential safety over her child? 

_Do you really think that postponing your labor will postpone your botched chance at motherhood?_ a long dead voice echoes in her head and Catra shudders into herself. Bow’s grip on her shoulder tightens; she’s almost grateful for the way his touch keeps her grounded in reality, _Why rely so heavily on Adora to keep you from making my mistakes when you know you never stood a chance at this to begin with?_

Catra _barely_ stifles a pathetic wail. _What do you know,_ she wants with a cutting desperation to scream back at the shadows. _And what do you care?! Is my baby’s pain justification for the way you treated me? Adora or not- I will_ not _be you._

“You got this, Catra. Just take it easy, ‘cause we’re got a while to go.” The irony of Bow’s reassurance is almost insulting, but Catra forces herself to bite back the scream in her throat and nod.

Instead she reaches out for the phasing matter of her companion’s mane to ground her, but comes up short when her hand meets nothing. 

“Huh?” Panic hits Catra upside the head as she looks up, around, and behind her frantically to scan the command center that is now empty except the King and her pregnant self.

“Where’s Melog?”

_

**_Cottage in the Whispering Woods; 19 Weeks_ **

_ “You’re welcome.” _

“No!”

A force beyond control expelled Catra from the safety of sleep, throwing her spine and limb upwards with an unforgiving panic. Her head followed, the cry bypassing the fear in her throat and escaping her lips, and her eyes opened without her command as unsheathed claws grasped with enough force cut the fabric in her hand and draw blood from her skin.

Every inch of Catra’s fur stood on end. Met with a deafening silence, Catra’s ears fell flat on her head and she tore her gaze through the room around her, a resounding  _ “Where am I?!”  _ amplifying the torrent of her fear flooding her blood stream. A slick moisture covered her entire body, a heat trapping her legs and torso and she scrambled to free herself of the trap constraining her and weighing her down, but all Catra succeeded in doing was further paralyzing herself against the solid mass she ran her back into with a  _ thud!  _

“Merow.” 

The only sound louder than the scream that left Catra was her heartbeat.

Panting, Catra braced and threw her clawed hands out in the general direction the meow came from, when the meow morphed into a call that resembled her name and a familiar face phased into view. 

“Melog?”

_ Catra. Nightmare.”  _ Catra made a noise of distress at Melog’s straight forward explanation and turned her head away, her hands trembling  _ “Okay now. Home now, safe now.”  _

_ Home?  _ Forcing her eyes back open, Catra followed the promise of Melog’s words. As a soft purring echoed in her ears as she glanced around to see that her companion was right; she was home, she was  _ safe.  _ The heat was coming from the blanket on top of her, obviously, her back pinning the single pillow Catra slept on to the wall of her bedroom. Ripped out of what the nightmare by the raw, pure adrenaline only fear could cause, Catra found herself crouched on her bed at the mercy of panic that rendered her lost and confused.

A nightmare? No, that didn’t make any sense. Catra, her breathing shallow, gripped her throat and ran her claws down her neck in an effort to regain control.

How had what Catra had seen  _ not  _ been real? How was she here in her bed and not in a vast, corrupted chamber built by the First Ones for the sole purpose of housing an ancient elemental killing machine? With her throat this bare and raw, how had Catra not been screaming at the top of her lungs just so she could be heard  _ begging  _ over the sounds of dark magic tearing apart the atmosphere, the sickening slither of the monster’s tendrils clashing against the waves of power still ringing in her ears. The sides of her clenched fists ached as if the magical barrier Catra had been beating down was real. It was all  _ so _ real.

Remnants of nightmare clung to Catra like sweat to skin. Closing her eyes, Catra could watch a highlight reel of the worst, most gut wrenching moments woven together by her unconscious self: Shadow Weaver dying in an explosion that defeated the monster and took her away, Shadow Weaver giving her life for Catra’s so that she could save Adora’s, Shadow Weaver sacrificing herself just to become the person in death that Catra needed in life.

Shadow Weaver,  _ knowing _ she that her death would follow, turning around to tell Catra that despite every blow the woman ever dealt her, she was actually proud of her ward. 

A sob wracked Catra’s entire body as it became a feral growl that, too big for her body, reverberated throughout the entire room.  _ Shadow Weaver? I’m dreaming about Shadow Weaver? No, I can’t be. No!  _

Without thinking, Catra’s claws met the quilt tangled in her legs and she shucked it to the ground, the mattress her next target of her mounting and violent anger, but before her path of destruction could grow any larger, a force pushed Catra up under her neck and laid across her lap.

_ “Stop.” _

Catra collapsed into Melog with a pained squeal, and the dam holding back her tears breaking in two, allowing an unholy stream of salt and snot to drip into their mane, her body shaking as the pain ripped through her. But Melog reamined unphased by Catra’s death grip around their neck. Even when her arms squeezed tighter, Catra’s blurry recollection of her nightmare becoming more solid in her mind.

_ I was alone. She  _ left  _ me alone, again. _

The nightmares never held a candle to the real thing, the real memory stained by tearshed and disbelief, so Catra’s subconscious conspired to make up for the sheer intensity another moment in Catra’s life could never hope to match. Hardly her first nightmare about the woman who tortured her until Catra was nothing but open wounds and exposed nerves only to call it tough love, Catra always stood there behind Shadow Weaver’s barrier of dark magic  _ alone.  _ In  _ every single one  _ of her nightmares about the Hell that transpired before the Heart, Catra watched Shadow Weaver die  _ alone.  _ There was no ending her mind could justify where Adora catches Catra’s hand, where Adora stands by her side until the reality of their caretaker’s actions brought her to her knees, where Adora is there and watching it all happen, too. 

Shadow Weaver’s mask would drop from her hand to the floor and trapped in the corrupted memory, Catra is forced to stand by herself and see again the second and last time she ever witnessed the true face of the matron that made her.

_ “This is only the beginning for you. I’m so proud of you, Catra.” _

“Why would she say that just to turn around and  _ die? _ ” Catra curled her fingers in Melog’s mane as she sobbed like a pathetic cry baby, unraveled by a single pull on that taut thin thread that was her composure. “Why did she only love me when she was about to leave me?”

_ Why did she leave me when we could’ve helped her? We would’ve helped her! She’s withholding and cruel my whole fucking life and the  _ second  _ she sees an out away from me she puts all her cards on the table? Did it really _ kill _ Shadow Weaver just to say she was proud of me for once? _

Those were the skeletons of the questions that had played in Catra’s mind like a broken hologram for the last ten years since that moment in the core of the planet. For the sake of her survival and every relationship she had, Catra had to bite the bullet and accept that when Shadow Weaver gave her life for their future, she took the answers to those questions with her. But that truth never stopped her from falling apart in front of her Guide whenever the shadows overtook her, screaming about the bullshit unfairness of it all. She had to weather the worst of Shadow Weaver’s evils; didn’t she  _ deserve _ to know why?

_ I was never good enough for her to stay around for. _

As Catra’s sobs continued filling the vacuum of her bedroom, Melog licked the tears of her cheek.  _ “Not your fault. You did everything you could.” _

“I know, I know,” Catra sniffed and pulled away, running her nose under the crook of her elbow, “The host can’t ever satisfy the parasite. It just dies trying.” 

This piece of unconventional wisdom that came from an equally unconventional place came back to Catra, a mantra that calmed her despite the stomach-turning imagery, as she rested her forehead on Melog’s waiting one. King and High Sorcerer Micah told Catra that almost seven years ago. During the beginnings of an interdimensional rescue mission that brought Catra closer to Glimmer’s family than she could’ve ever guessed possible considering her actions done in the Horde’s name, Sparkle’s Princess’s father discovered her wandering the Guild Hall, in search of a shadow’s ghost.

_ “Can’t sleep either?”  _ Micah had asked her sulking form beneath Light Spinner’s disgraced statue. His own gaze lingered on the late sorceress’s form with an almost untraceable malice, but Catra knew she recognized the hurt in the King’s eyes, even if she could barely make eye contact.

_ “It’s hard to explain,”  _ Catra had told him in a classic effort to get him to leave her alone.

Sliding down the wall beside her in his bathrobe and slippers, Micah nudged Catra’s shoulder, incapable of not being a father to anyone his daughter’s age- crimes against humanity notwithstanding, apparently. _“Try me.”_

Maybe Catra thought that she owed him for sending his wife straight into an eternity of endless nothingness with no hope for return. Maybe Catra thought it would be no different than talking to an actual sound board. Guide Fae had pressed her countless times that when Catra went out of her way to sabotage any chance to practice vulnerability, she was only doing herself more harm than good and that if Catra was just willing to try, even every once in a while, the burden of discomfort that came with disclosure would ease. Maybe that’s why Catra told Micah about her history with Shadow Weaver and the complicated, conflicting emotions tearing her apart from the inside out that had followed her around  _ years _ after her death.

Why Micah was honest with her, Catra didn’t actually know. She knew she hadn’t in that moment deserved the grace he gave her, or the wisdom he gifted free of charge. Catra also knew that Micah’s retelling of his own childhood, corrupted by the same hands that stole hers, granted her peace for just a minute. It was one thing to remember that Shadow Weaver hadn’t just done such a number on Catra, but also had never stopped working her magic on Adora. It was another to have someone show Catra the picture that existed beyond their lives in the Horde, that there was a third variable, a third victim. A precedent.

Micah didn’t know what he gave Catra, what he gave Catra  _ and  _ Adora, when he told her about the analogy of parasites. Like a father should, Micah lifted the burden of blame from Catra’s shoulders. Because  _ “the host can never satisfy the parasite”  _ was just a roundabout, semi creepy way of saying,  _ “it was  _ never  _ your fault.” _

There was no Catra could ever repay him for that.

“Ugh,” Catra mumbled while unabashedly snucking up the rest of her snot, “why do you think I was having a nightmare about  _ her _ ?”

Rubbing her eyes in an attempt to rid herself of the last remaining residuals of her nightmare, Catra glanced up to meet Melog’s gaze. It was just the two of them in their little bedroom sized universe with just the late afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window to remind them of the world that existed beyond this. The cat-like creature sat on the other end of the bed, tail moving back and forth in a lazy motion, and spared Catra a response. 

“I guess dreaming about Shadow Weaver dying is better than  _ some  _ things,” muttering to herself, Catra pulled her knees closer to her chest. A modest but meaningful obstacle kept her from totally assuming the soothing form. 

Turned out post traumatic stress was nothing if not creative to the most inconvienent and tortorous extent and Catra’s brain was just a treasure trove of fucked up memories and unresolved experiences to treat her nightmares to. Growing up in the Horde, being a Force Captain in the Horde, anything and everything that had ever happened with Shadow Weaver, Hordak and his unhealthy need to suck the life force out of her, being held captive by Horde Prime, drowned and electrocuted by Horde Prime, her time in the Hive-Mind. The list went  _ on.  _ If Catra was lucky- and taking care of herself- then she could spare herself by keeping that list and her nightmares from taking a darker turn into  _ “ _ Adora leaves you again,” or “You’re fighting Adora again,” or “Adora dies in your arms,” territory. 

Shuddering, Catra’s hand found Adora’s winged pin- on her shoulder today- out of habit. Where was Adora anyway? Catra recalled her wife saying something about going to the market in Erelandia to pick up more of the Caktun plums Catra couldn’t seem to get enough these days and she had asked Catra if she wanted to come along, but Catra’s exhaustion was ruling her to the point where she’d given new meaning to the phrase “cat nap,” and right before she tumbled into their bed, Adora said something about swinging by George and Lance’s library afterwards and kissed her goodbye.

Guess her Shadow Weaver nightmares making a comeback would give them something to talk about when Adora got home.

_ No!  _ Catra shook her head and bore her teeth down on her tongue, wrapping her arms around her body.  _ This doesn’t mean anything, this is just random. It’s- what’s that thing that Entrapta is always saying- an anomaly! This doesn’t mean I’m going back to having chronic nightmares about  _ her  _ again. _

Melog purred.  _ “Prompting event?” _

Snorting, Catra ran a hand through her mane, appreciating the length and the way it now covered just below the faint scar of Prime’s chip placement. Of course Melog would be repeating Guide Fae’s instructions right as Catra stood on the brink of spiraling, pushing her to reach out for rationality before assuming the most emotional stance. “Prompting events” were her Guide’s way of saying that none of her batshit reactions happened without reason and that it was Catra’s responsibility to learn and recognize what those events were to inform what her next move should be.

But as Catra tried to think back through the last hours, the last days and weeks to something that could’ve sat long enough in her mind to set her off this severely, she found herself drawing a complete blank on what could’ve caused this Shadow Weaver Death Sequence relapse.  _ Nothing _ was coming to mind. No incidents where random a trick of the light caught Catra off guard or Adora said something and unconsciously used a favorite word of their caretaker’s. Was she just being stupid? Purposely ignorant just to hold on to a false sense of safety?

_ We haven’t had to talk about Shadow Weaver in months!  _ Catra’s confusion set in deeper when she realized that actually, it’d been almost a year since her late abuser had come in conversation with either Adora or Fae. 

_ Shadow Weaver belongs in the past and lately,  _ Catra’s hand let go of Adora’s pin, slid down her sternum and rested on her newly protruding abdomen,  _ we’ve been so focused on the present. _

“Hey kiddo,” whispered Catra, exhaling out any pent up frustration or lingering anxiety. That was the power of the little fetus growing more and more inside her every day; Catra couldn’t think about herself for any stretch of time before her baby- by no fault of her own- reminded or distracted or blew Catra away by how fucking incredible her existence was going to be. Was already. 

Splaying her fingers out on her “baby bump” as Adora called Catra’s now obvious pregnancy like they were the most affectionate words in the universe, Catra wondered if she would feel any movements. “Kiddo” or “kitten” as she was interchangably called by both parents had just started exploring the environment of her mom’s super exciting uterus last week. And Catra almost missed it, the tiny, alien flutters and nudges inside her almost so small and insignificant that they almost went over her head. 

Catra scared the  _ shit _ out of Adora when she did realize what was going on, when she put a name to the weird, consistent twitch between her hips by sitting up and shouting “Moving! Baby’s moving!” at the top of her lungs, causing the book Adora was reading to fly six feet in the air as she yelped. Even Swifty rammed his head into the low ceiling in surprise. If the love pile that had ensued at Catra’s announcement of their four-going-on-five member family hadn’t made up for scaring them, Adora kissing her with matched excitement as they took turns feeling up her baby bump (even though it was way to early for anybody but Catra to enjoy the sensation of their daughter kicking and exploring and taking up space) while Swift Wind kept jostling into their embrace loudly threatening he was going to cry and Melog pushed them all down like dominos back into the bed, then Catra wasn’t sure what did.

Twenty weeks. That’s how far along Catra was now. By some cosmic decency, Catra’s first trimester and a half had been without unnecessary difficulty. 

Sure, after the first few weeks since the conception conjuration method went by, Catra was hit by a wave of nausea so intense she spent most of her time at the Embassy on the floor of a bathroom stall (other places she hurled her guts out included Kai’s fifth birthday party, Swift Wind’s barn outside their cottage and no, he still hadn’t let it go, and during the intermission of Double Trouble’s boring plays). Because Catra wanted to survive the first trimester before telling all of Etheria about her pregnancy, she and Adora had to rely on a series of “food poisoning” and “Double Trouble’s acting skills” related excuses as to why Catra was always near a toilet. Catra was still one hundred percent sure that Mermista had her pegged since the whole birthday party incident.

The morning sickness was normal, they were told repeatedly at Catra’s monthly prenatal checkups on Mystacore. The exhaustion bordering on narcolepsy was normal, apparently. The cravings, the weird mood patterns even Catra’s unbalanced psychology couldn’t explain, the random as fuck bouts of crying and the all over the map libido was normal. Everything was normal and now that the first trimester had come and gone they were basically out of the woods in terms of keeping the pregnancy, but Catra and Adora still let out a collective breath every time their midwife Hertha said “everything looks good.”

_ She’s doing good,  _ Catra reminded herself with her fingers spread out still over her belly. Her daughter may be holding out on her by keeping the squirming to an unperceivable minimum, but it was enough for Catra to know by the baby bump that she was there, that she was healthy and protected, whatever the physical cost demanded of Catra was. As the last month of Catra’s second trimester creeped closer, a piercing and all consuming want to meet the little person growing inside her dominated any of the echoing fears that came with pregnancy and all its hundreds of risks and thousands of inconveniences, defining Catra’s day-to-day as one day closer to the day their baby would come into the world. 

And Catra wasn’t the only one.

_ “We’re having a baby girl,”  _ Awestruck, Adora had pulled Catra into an embrace the second they stepped outside Mystacore’s Thaumaturgic Clinic and practically squealed, Catra laughing into her shoulder. 

Their latest appointment had been a milestone in every fucking sense of the word; Catra got the baby to the half way point, as confirmed by an old midwife spell that mimicked the sonographic technology Entrapta was so freaking fond of by projecting an array of amber light that phased together to become a three dimensional image of their baby in real time as Catra lay naked from the ribcage down almost and embarrassingly brought to tears by the sight. The image showed the baby’s scrunched up form, defined eyelids and nose, ten little fingers and toes- and the baby’s biological sex, which the midwife informed them of before taking her salved up fingers off of Catra’s body and ending the glamour. 

Guess Adora had been like Catra at the moment, too entranced by the sight of their child sucking her thumb, didn’t register it until they were leaving the appointment in a daze. 

Not that either of them really cared or had any expectations about the baby’s gender. It was just that Catra and Adora were not “patience is a virtue” people, and they were standing at a point where they would both give anything to know anything about their baby, about the child they would be, their likes and dislikes, the would they would interact with the world. Knowing the biological sex was just knowing one more thing about the little person coming to life inside Catra and both she and Catra were aware there were so many more things they would learn along the way. Who this child chose to become was their choice, obviously. Catra and Adora just wanted and  _ couldn’t wait _ for the baby to be in their lives; adding conditions to it was to waste the chance they’d been given as moms, and honestly, who had the time to give a shit anyway? 

Wasn’t parenting already going to be hard enough with the kid not sleeping through the night, constantly making messes, and hanging off her tits all the time?

A thought struck Catra as she ran her hand over the belly, wondering if her daughter could feel the sensation:  _ Fuck, are my nightmares bad for her? Am I messing my baby up already?  _ There was no way that much pure adrenaline could be good for a dependent being that didn’t even weigh twelve ounces yet. She looked up frantically and found Melog right in front of her, still staring, still waiting for an answer for whatever Catra thought the “prompting event” of her Shadow Weaver Death Scene nightmare could’ve been.

Catra glanced down to where her hand rested over her baby bump.

“We have to go.” 

Asking no questions, Melog sensed the urgency flooding through Catra’s veins and gave a low meow as she scurried out of the bed and mounted, waiting for her instructions of “where to?”

Panic, the kind that left Catra in a desperate and immediate need for water to put out the fire, took over her entire body, puppeteering her every move. Melog burst through the door of the cottage and headed straight out into the Whispering Woods, gaining ground in leaps and bounds until it seemed like time wasn’t passing at all. Catra tried to tell herself to take a few deep breaths for the sake of her fucking sanity, to avoid jumping to grand but inaccurate conclusions, but the fear ate away at her common sense like that one time Entrapta poured a bunch of acid onto sheet metal just for kicks.

_ Why is this happening now?  _ She wanted to scream out and have the words burst through the trees,  _ We were doing fine! We were literally half way! Why is it that every damn time I try to move forward with my life  _ she  _ comes back and shows me why that will never, ever be possible?! _

Those thoughts of course, only built up more momentum the farther Catra tried to shove them down. By the time Melog was bolting through Plumeria’s main village, Catra was practically dry heaving, the panic had become so consuming and she stumbled off of her companion’s back right outside the canopy of the Heart Blossom before hurling her guts out (in front of like six villagers who apparently had nothing better to do) straight into a bush. 

_ “Okay?”  _ Melog purred, nudging her shaking form.

“I’m fine!” Wiping the remaining bile off her mouth, Catra stood and said in a declaration to anyone bold enough to stare at her pathetic state. She turned on her heel, throwing her arms over her abdomen as she pushed through the dangling branches and leaves, “Perfuma-”

“Ready Ren? Alright, up we go!” 

Catra swallowed the rest of her sentence instantly and stood frozen, staring wide-eyed at the sight that greeted her with a stinging cruelty. Sitting right near in the Heart Blossom’s apex, Perfuma supported her daughter's weight with her hands gripped firmly around the baby’s cloth diaper, extending her arms upwards over her head so that baby Ren was, by a six month old’s definition, soaring. Ren’s giggles filled the entire canopy and she waved her pincers around. Exploring, playing. Taking up space. 

Right as Perfuma brought Ren down, she peppered her daughter’s face with a series of kisses, the squeals that resulted pushing Catra’s ears down.

_ This was a bad idea. For Eternia’s sake, why did I think it was a good idea to come here- _

“Oh Catra!” Perfuma’s voice caught her right as she was dipping back down under the draping leaves. “What are you doing here? I didn’t think I would be seeing you until the next prenatal yoga class.”

“Um,” choked Catra, grasping the one arm hanging limp. Melog came to stand beside her “It- it doesn’t matter. You’re busy, I’ll just see you this weekend.”

“Nonsense! We can always make time for friends,” Perfuma spoke the last words to baby Ren, who smiled brightly at the sight of her mother as she was hoisted onto the Princess’s hip. A vine broke through the grass below their feet and climbed until it was handing baby Ren one of the many toys strewn across the terrace. 

“Heh.” Catra winced.  _ Ugh _ ,  _ why couldn’t I just have waited for Adora to get home?  _

“And cousins.” added Perfuma with a little nod to Catra’s baby bump, and Ren shook the toy, a wooden rattle, in her pincers with excitement. 

_ You deserve this,  _ a taunting voice from beyond the grave crept into Catra’s mind, sending a shock through her back that made all her fur stick out on end,  _ real mothers do not act impulsively. They are selfless with their time, like this flower princess, and now you’re wasting it. Do you really think you could give your child the happiness Perfuma gives hers?  _

Either Catra’s face turned a sickly green again, or her pupils blew up two sizes, because Perfuma caught on way too fast for her own good. “Catra, is something wrong? You don’t look like you’re feeling alright...” 

Baby Ren stuck the raddle in her mouth, her curious brown eyes locking with Catra’s. But then the toy slipped from the slobber in her mouth and hit the grass with a soft thump, and something in Catra  _ shattered.  _

“I had a nightmare, okay!” She was yelling before she had the sense to stop, “I had a nightmare about Shadow Weaver dying right before we freed the magic in the Heart and I panicked- I panicked because I don’t dream about her anymore, I don’t even  _ think _ about her anymore because she doesn’t deserve it, and Adora wasn’t there, she wasn’t home, and I didn’t know what to do, okay?! I  _ needed _ to talk to someone because- because Shadow Weaver… she’s back in my head and I think it has something to do with-” Catra ended her rant by gesturing to her baby bump, panting.

For an entire minute, all Perfuma did was stand there and blink like Catra had started speaking another fucking language, Ren babbling and sticking her pincers in Perfuma’s hair. “Catra, I don’t really know what to say.” 

Catra let out a growl and her claws crawled up her mane into her scalp. 

“Have you tried getting a hold of your Guide? Fae can probably help you out much better than I can-”

“No,  _ no,  _ I don’t need Fae right now.” Catra shook her head. “Fae is this elusive mystery I don’t know anything about, so I don’t know if they have children, and I need to talk to someone with, you know-”

“With a baby? Oh Catra, I didn’t know you needed Mommy support!” said Perfuma, practically swooning at the thought.

_ “Please  _ don’t call it that.” 

The flower princess didn’t respond. Turning around, Perfuma motioned with her free hand toward a pair of stumps near the canopy’s edge. Catra, however hesitant, shuffled over with her tail tucked behind her knees and Melog a step behind her.

“Why do you think I’m dreaming about her, I mean, Shadow Weaver?” Catra asked as she struggled to lower herself with poise and not fall flat on her ass. Running one hand down her belly, she tossed the crook of her elbow over her baby bump.

“Well, you said that you think being pregnant has something to do with it,” Positioning baby Ren over her lap, Perfuma pulled her daughter closer and handed her a soft plush shaped like some sort of animal before continuing, “It’s possible that’s triggering your c-PTSD, I would think.”

Catra scoffed, “My own kid is triggering me? How is that even possible, she can’t even hear me fully!” 

_ Not for at least four more weeks.  _

“I just don’t understand why this is even happening. I  _ worked  _ through my shi- stuff with Shadow Weaver years ago! She shouldn’t even be a thought in my mind!” growled Catra, collapsing forward as far as her body would let her and forcing her eyes shut.

“Catra,” a hand clasped her knee, “You know that it doesn’t work that way.”

Tears pricked Catra’s eyes and her hands left her baby bump as she drew them into fists.

“Scorpia told me that you just found out that you and Adora found out you’re having a daughter, and I may not be a Guide, but I know how terrifying becoming a mom is. I know how many scary feelings it brings up, especially the closer you get to your due date. Maybe… maybe because you’re having a daughter, you’re remembering what it was like to  _ be  _ a daughter?” Perfuma finished, squeezing Catra’s knee again right before she had a chance to pull it away. Ren’s continued coos and babbles echoed in Catra’s ears. 

Swallowing, Catra tried to maintain her unraveling composure. “I-I don’t understand.”

“What I mean is, you’ve been through a lot of change in the last couple of months because of your pregnancy. You’re not able to do a lot of the things you were used to doing. Your daughter is dictating a lot of your behavior because you want her to be safe and healthy, but maybe it’s signaling some subconscious want in you?” Catra’s tail stood straight up at the Princess’s words. “I know that you told me you never saw Shadow Weaver as your mother because she-”

“Wasn’t exactly motherly?”

“-hmm, that is  _ one  _ way to describe it. But what  _ I  _ mean is, just because you never saw Shadow Weaver as your mother didn’t mean you never wanted her to love you. Those wishes for her love never went away, Catra, they just… they went to sleep, if that makes sense. And now because of your baby, those wishes are waking up.” Perfuma expanded upon her already terrifying explanation, holding up Baby Ren under her armpits and allowing her legs to stretch out, catch her mother’s knees, and bounce up and down.

“I can’t believe you remember I told you all that stuff about Shadow Weaver.” mumbled Catra.

All those meditation sessions with Perfuma Catra tried to bullshit her way through until a sense of peace actually clicked in her head right here by the Heart Blossom were as long ago as they felt. How could after ten years of trying to fix herself, of trying to be good enough for a future with Adora, Catra would still be here trying to pick up her broken pieces and hold the shards in her hands? 

Ren let out a little shriek of delight, shaking the stuffed animal in her pincer and tossing it onto the grass.

“I try to remember as much as I can about all my friends, Catra.” Perfuma smiled, her expression brimming with compassion, and she bent down to pick up Ren’s toy, handing it back to her baby without ever breaking eye contact with Catra. “These nightmares you’re having might be because you’re about to be a mom so you’re going back to Shadow Weaver because she was your only model?” 

_ “Why… Why did you treat me the way you did? Why was I never good enough? Really, I wanna know.” _

_ “Because you remind me of myself. You always have. Nothing was ever easy for me either. I wasn’t born to power like Adora and… others. I had to  _ earn  _ my power. Fight for it. Why should it be any different from you?” _

“No.” Catra stood up, her foot brushing an alarmed Melog. “No, I don’t accept that.”

With the dialogue broken, Perfuma scrambled to console her as Ren let out another shriek, “Catra, that’s just my  _ guess _ . It doesn’t make it true or a bad thing either-”

“It can’t be true, okay? I can’t have Shadow Weaver in my head right now, I can’t have her in my  _ life  _ right now, there’s already so many things that can go wrong and I can’t risk  _ anything  _ that might hurt my kid-” Catra’s shoulders fell as the defeat sunk in. She’d already lost, hadn’t she? What kind of parent had Catra really thought she’d be, when Shadow Weaver made sure all she’d  _ ever  _ be was a flight risk? A stick of dynamite strapped to the side of anyone she loved, anyone that loved her.

“This was a mistake.”

Catra bolted for the canopy as fast her body would take her, just barely avoiding tripping over Melog when they stood in her way, worried yowling slowing her down just long enough for Perfuma to stand up and grab her hand. 

“Perfuma-” she growled, her free arm thrown carelessly over her baby bump. 

Baby Ren’s chubby cheeks blew up in a pout and she squirmed in her mother’s arms, fussing more and more before she began to wail.

“Wait,” Perfuma pleaded over baby Ren’s cries, “Please don’t go, Catra. I can help you, you’re not alone,  _ every _ parent has worries-”

“This is different!” Catra lashed out and yanked her arm away. “This is different.”

Ignoring her friend’s shouting for her to stay and talk it out, Catra blinked tears out of her eyes and climbed on Melog-  _ oh now they have the sense I just wanna go home? _ \- and threw her arms around their neck, the village of Plumeria becoming nothing more than a blurry background as they raced away, Catra’s tears streaming down her face and into their mane. Melog’s movements jostled her limbs, her belly, but she paid the present no attention, caught in some fucked mix of the past and the future where she was Shadow Weaver and Shadow Weaver was her. 

_ How could I be so stupid?  _ Catra’s thoughts were caught on a loop right as Melog slid into the dirt in front of the cottage’s back door. _ How could I be so impulsive that I drag a  _ child  _ into my issues? _

_ “I was a child when you took me in! What could I have possibly done to deserve the way you treated me? I am  _ nothing  _ like you. You are old and bitter and weak!” _

_ “Ah, but you are like me.” _

Two years Catra had walked the line between being just another discarded, failed project of her abuser and  _ becoming  _ her abuser. Adora left the reality of the Horde for the sparkle of the Rebellion and Catra’s plans for their future together turned to dust right in front of her eyes, and then all that mattered was proving she could survive,  _ thrive _ , achieve all those superficial plans  _ without  _ Adora, that she could be better than the lamentable unrequited love for her best friend that was splitting her into two shadowed pieces. 

Shadow Weaver disappeared from the cell in the Fright Zone, abandoned Catra to Hordak’s wrath just to claw and machinate her way back into Adora’s world, and then all that mattered was that  _ no one  _ got the upper hand on Catra  _ ever  _ again, the price she had to pay for such power be damned. She pulled that switch and took the whole world with her to complete that exchange; Adora may have brought the world back, but she left whatever pieces of Catra were worth saving behind, lost somewhere in that infinite void.

All that was left of Catra after the portal were shards, fragments of her original self. Catra held them until they cut her skin, and in the name of villainy and power- the only companions that stuck around to protect her- she assembled those pieces according to her closest model: Shadow Weaver. 

Catra bit down on her tongue to keep her sobs in her throat as a growl of rage echoed through the forest, but the memories of the war’s last year flashed before her eyes all the same, each another blow to her body. 

The fire and smoke and unstable pride that filled her lungs as Salineas burned to the ground under Hordak’s fire, under her orders. 

Adora and Swifty’s screams echoing in her ears as she pushed the button allowing the machinery they stood on to electrocute them as Catra bragged about what she picked up from Shadow Weaver, taunting “turns out she was useful for  _ something  _ in the end.”

Her own hand shaking as she stabbed Entrapta in the back, her words becoming her as she betrayed Scorpia in the same move, ordering the Princess to ship their friend off to a painful death.

Baby blue eyes staring up at Catra in horror as those fragments she wasted years trying to rearrange reverted back to their original form.

Throwing her body against the door, Catra ran her claws down the wood as she pushed it open, driven delirious by rage and fear and disappointment.  _ This is what you wanted!  _ She wanted to go back into her nightmare, stand on the other side of that violet barrier and scream until her throat bled,  _ You got what you wanted! You just had to die for it first! _

As Catra collapsed onto the kitchen floor, Melog diving in barely just in time to catch her, shadows wrapped around her limbs and whispered in her ear,  _ The only reason you and Adora get to have what you have now- your home, your positions, this age of peace, your child- was because  _ I  _ sacrificed myself for you. The host never died, Catra, it just became the parasite. _

“Catra, you’re back!” Over her sobbing, Catra heard Adora’s voice call out. She must’ve come home when Catra ran off to Plumeria and now Catra could hear her familiar footsteps enter the kitchen. Something about her wife’s usual greeting just made the tears fall faster, the pain that much stronger, Shadow Weaver’s voice in her head that much louder, “I went by George and Lance’s place to see if they had a copy of that child development textbook we saw at Elberon University but it wasn’t in so I checked out this scroll with pre-First Ones Etherian names- Catra!” 

There was a  _ whack!  _ of the scroll in Adora’s grip hitting the ground as she took off running, sliding into the floor and enveloping Catra in her arms before Catra had any chance to protest. Melting into her wife, Catra cut off a guttural scream and closed her hand into a fist when Adora’s hand found her baby bump. The simple physical touch was a deafening reminder of how much Adora already loved their baby, of how much Catra loved the little creature growing inside her and dictating her every behavior, with a face she hadn’t seen in real life yet but would kill for just a glimpse of.

Yesterday that want had been enough. That abundance of love had been enough. But now... What if nothing Catra did was enough?

“Catra, what’s wrong- what-what happened, I don’t understand-” Adora took off, her worry suffocating Catra’s words, hugging her tighter as Catra dragged her nails down her back, “Talk to me. I’m here, I’m here.”

“I need you to promise me something,” Voice hoarse, Catra whispered into Adora’s shoulder after several strangled moments of trying- and failing- to get it together. 

Adora pulled away, confusion written in her expression. “What? Catra, please, tell me what happened. Where did you go? What’s going on?”

“ _ Please,  _ Adora.” Catra stopped her, “Please. I need you- I need you to promise that I won’t be… that you’ll keep me from being like  _ her. _ ”

“Like- like  _ Shadow Weaver?  _ Catra, how could you think that about yourself-” Adora, the realization dawning in her eyes, protested, shaking her head in outright refusal.

“It doesn’t matter what I think!”  _ If it mattered, our baby wouldn’t be doomed. I could just love her without being scared of ruining her.  _ “Just promise, Adora. You said you would do whatever I needed when we got pregnant and  _ I  _ need this from you.”

A beat passed before Adora hung her head in solemn defeat.

“I- I promise.”

Adora’s words didn’t lift the weight from Catra’s shoulders. They didn’t bring Catra back to that place before her nightmare where everything was fine, their baby was fine and would always be. But it was a start, and right now, that would have to do. Approaching the extremism of this belief would be a task in it of itself; Catra would  _ never  _ dare think of hurting her child, she could say that with confidence as Adora’s voice wiped away Shadow Weaver’s first, she just needed to make sure she never  _ unconsciously _ emulated that monster, that parasite, who raised her.

Settling in against the crook of Adora’s neck, Catra took her first real deep breath of that whole afternoon and opened her mouth to say thank you, but apparently, her wife wasn’t done. 

“I promise Catra,” Adora whispered, “but you’re not her. I know that better than anyone and I won’t let you think about yourself. I love you  _ so  _ much, okay?”

A purr left her throat as Catra’s hand fell to where Adora’s lay on her baby bump. 

Reality wasn’t like Catra’s nightmares in this way. Catra’s mind would preoccupy itself in sleep with the horrors she lived with one outstanding difference- Adora would be gone for good. Adora wouldn’t catch her hand when Shadow Weaver turned around to go out in a bang. But Adora was here,  _ really  _ here, to catch Catra before her emotions ruined her, to hold the fragments of her together, to sand down the sharp edges and mold the pieces into a good person, a worthy person, deserving of love. Deserving of giving love.

“I love you, too.”

Deep in her abdomen, Catra felt a familiar flutter. 


	4. would you know it right away, how hard I tried to see your face?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Catra’s breath hitches; she knows he’s Bow holds the upper hand of the truth she’s adhered to for the last ten years. That look of assurity, of determination in Adora’s eyes as they held each other that night on the Nursery floor comes back to Catra as she closes her eyes. Just because Adora occasionally needed a reminder to kick her into gear didn’t mean she ever gave up on Catra, or would ever think of giving up on their family.  
> Guess Catra just needed the occasional reminder."
> 
> Mounting pressures and high expectations open the door for some old anxieties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get going I just want to say thank you for the continued support of this fic. I am kept going by your wonderful comments and feedback, and by your messages on tumblr. I owe this fic to you guys! Thank you for allowing me to indulge myself like this and explore these topics with these characters. 
> 
> One headcanon that I’ve always kinda had in the back of my head is about Adora being able to read First One script even though she’s never heard it spoken… or ever seen it before was not because she was She Ra (she ra ended up belonging to etheria anyway, not the first ones AND THEY NEVER EXPLAIN HOW SHE CAN JUST READ A LANGUAGE NO ONE HAS SPOKEN IN A MILLENIA) but that the First Ones’ brains were wired in a way that it was very easy to speak and read different languages (which probably, you know, helped the colonize so many planets if they could pretend to be friendly people who spoke the language and then come for the resources), and that Adora’s brain is wired that way (for the languages, not the colonization), too. I thought it was fun, and I hope it makes sense. 
> 
> General warning in this chapter for mentions of abuse and PSTD.

The nursery has become a place of refuge for Adora.

Well, _future_ nursery, Adora should say. Their baby wouldn’t be here for another thirteen weeks ( _thirteen_ weeks, Adora still couldn’t believe that, it was both too soon and way too far away for her own liking) and even after she was born, their daughter would spend her nights in Adora and Catra’s bedroom for at least a year before this room was hers. Trying to picture the three of them together, their baby swaddled tightly and sleeping in the three sided bassinet that would be pushed flush against the side of their mattress was a heartwarming image, so close to reality that Adora could almost reach out and hold it in her hands.

Curiosity drove this want more than anything. Forget growing up with a healthy or unhealthy family dynamic; Adora’s childhood possessed a certain Horde dynamic, that is, void of any family dynamic at all and she lost herself more times than she could count rehashing the differences between her than and her now. Her past and her daughter’s future. 

For one thing, this sleeping arrangement their tiny family of three would be sharing of a cozy bedroom overflowing with books and toys everywhere except the mattress, level and firm because neither Adora or Catra could fall asleep on an oversized pillow, with an alien cat snoozing soundly at the foot of the bed and walls to keep the outside world of watchful eyes out- was a complete 180 from the stately and barren barracks of the Horde. Whereas Adora was stolen from her place of birth and shelved away in a sterilized suite where other infants seized from the homes wouldn’t bother Hordak, her daughter would be safe here in their home, never any less from five feet away from her mothers. She’d have her own room- this room- when she passed her first birthday and native Etherian tradition signaled children should move into their own spaces to foster independence without breaking patterns of secure attachment. No intrusion by other kid soldiers or invasion of privacy by older cadets. No reason for her to fear what lingered in the dark with her parents across the hall. 

Adora wanted to settle into the softness of it all, the hope of it all, the promise that her daughter’s childhood would be a fairy tale that far outshone her own ghost stories. Maybe that’s why she started spending evening after evening in her baby’s soon-to-be nursery, because it was a pocket of space and time away from the daily stressors and responsibilities of being a planetary leader, filled instead with future promises and nearly tangible joy. 

But it wasn’t the _only_ reason Adora was crouched behind the in-progress crib and the slats of wood she’d yet to finish assembling strewn about a floor brimming with unopened boxes of baby clothes and childproof toys still in the wrapping paper.

“Okay, just _one_ more time. First, fold one of the corners of the blanket down into a triangle,” Adora spoke in hushed tones under her breath as her hands followed her instructions, smoothing the crease of one of the many baby blankets knitted and gifted by Castaspella, “position the baby so that the head is half way in, half way out of the triangle,” Repeating from rote memory, Adora took her hands off the blanket and swept her hair back, picking up the lofty squash next to her knees that was filling in for an actual baby. She wrapped the base of material around the squash’s neck, walking the line of her strength midway between firm and gentle as she tucked the blanket under its smooth surface. She always had to get creative for this next part considering squash did not have the same amount of limbs newborns’ needed bound. 

Nowhere else in the house could Adora fall to the whims of her anxiety and get away with it like she could in the Nursery. Catra camped out at the dining room table most nights, stifling yawns and memorizing verb tense of Ei’iki, the primary language of the nearby planet and future Etherian partner in agricultural trade Erklio, and was more than glad to shoo Adora away because it wasn’t “fair” that her wife’s First One heritage meant she got to “cheat” and pick up foreign languages “like it was nothing.” (A fair statement considering the fraction of the work Adora put in to become practically fluent while Catra trudged along and whacked her repeatedly with her tail whenever Adora tutored/”tortured” her). If Melog wasn’t at the table with Catra sleeping at the base of her chair, they and their all knowing eyes might wander the small kitchen or pace the den where if Swift Wind wasn’t in his barn, he’d be dreaming of loop de loops and revolution in the only part of the house he could comfortably fit in, right in front of the fireplace. 

If any of them caught Adora scratching this mental itch, she wasn’t sure she could handle the ambush of questions- or dogmatic staring, in Melog’s case- that would follow or the shame the questions would surely bring. How was she supposed to explain her thought process if she was caught red handed pinning a diaper to an garden squash, much less justify sitting down in front of her loved ones to do _just_ that? 

Adora picked the squash up to tuck the last remaining blanket underneath before delicately laying it back down on the floor. Surveying her handiwork, Adora stuck her thumbnail between her lips. 

“I-I can do better.” she asserted before undoing the swaddle for the nineteenth time. _But should I?_

The core of her problem lied in Adora’s awareness of it; she knew these quiet evenings of hiding away in shame just to compulsively practice techniques like swaddling, changing diapers, and dressing her infant replacement squash were at best irrational, but she couldn’t resist the urge when it overtook her each night for the past week and a half. Adora _needed_ to know how to do each and every one of these critical things. Mastery by the time her baby was here was essential. The more practice Adora had under her belt, the easier it would be to apply these skills on a newborn. A squirmy, squishy, dependent newborn. _Her_ squirmy, squishy, dependent newborn. 

_Don’t forget really,_ really _fragile,_ she reminded herself and her grip on the blanket’s edge loosened just a smidge. 

It’s not like Adora was privy to past experience that set her up for the smooth success of being in charge of an infant. Beyond the babies and little kids that were placed in her lap when she holding She Ra’s form- and also wasn’t looking- the most time Adora had ever spent with a baby was with Mermista and Sea Hawk’s son, but the Queen of Salineas didn’t allow Adora and Catra to watch two month old Kai for the six hours she would need to be in a meeting with Sea Urchin’s Coalition for Research and the Underwater Sanction for Liberal Arts because of their babysitting rep. No, it was because Mermista trusted the Royal Nanny about as far as she could throw her and with Sea Hawk icing his face with a steak sequestered to the throne room after trying to break up a fight on the docks between the two groups, she asked the vacationing wives to watch her baby in exchange for _“you know, whatever I find worth doing in six hours.”_

_“Do you even know how, like, to change a diaper?”_ Catra whispered to Adora as they were escorted up to Kai’s wing of the castle with absolutely no idea what they were in for- but whatever it was, for Catra it beat sulking under the beach umbrella’s shade refusing to go in the water.

_“I’m sure_ we _can figure it out.”_ she nudged Catra with her elbow in a rather see through attempt to appear confident, _“I mean, how hard can it possibly be?”_

There were several takeaways from those hours spent with baby Kai, for both Catra and Adora. The most prominent and intimidating one being the same revelation that landed Adora in this cooped-up position swaddling a vegetable (or wait, was it a fruit?); despite being peed on the second she peeled off Kai’s first dirty diaper, Adora wanted children, wanted children _with Catra_ because watching her play peek-a-boo with Mermista’s son as he smiled his bare gums and stretched his arms out for her was hands down the sweetest moment she’d ever witnessed, and that she wouldn’t say no to a baby. 

Back when Adora’s only endeavor was to broach and navigate the subject of having children with Catra, those were the lessons that carried the most weight. Forget what she learned watching Kai over the next few months of babysitting (because Catra was quick to develop a soft spot for the bouncy bundle of chaos) about how to hold what was basically a warm bag of water that was ways away from being able to support its own head or what earsplitting cry meant what or all the positions most comfortable for burping and cuddling and bottle feeding. 

Thank Etheria Scorpia and Perfuma were more than willing to let their precious and vulnerable newborn be Catra and Adora’s guinea pig once the two decided on having a baby. Without those refreshers of watching baby Ren and taking mental notes while Catra lay on the den floor bemoaning her newfound nausea as quietly as would still garner her wife’s attention, Adora would just be a walking textbook, spewing random facts about fetal development milestones and infant reflexes. 

Catra liked to tease her overeagerness, if not in a fond and loving way that managed to make Adora smile, take a deep breath, and put whatever parenting book from whatever kingdom she was studying down. 

_“Is there a part of this chapter you_ haven’t _underlined?”_ her wife bent over her shoulder earlier last week and laughed low in her ear, hand trailing her shoulder. 

“ _Well, it’s_ all _pretty important.”_ Adora shot back. 

Catra shoved Adora’s head out of the way, protesting her giggling, and inched forward, _“It’s about vitamin deficiency, babe. Haven’t you ever heard of light reading before bed? Besides, Hertha said everything looked good. Don’t run yourself ragged before the kid_ actually _gets here.”_

In that moment Adora wanted to play the _“exactly, everything looks good, that’s why we can’t let up now”_ card, but something in the playful expression in Catra’s face as she intertwined their fingers together above her belly froze the words in her throat. Rarer and rarer it was becoming to see Catra looked so relaxed, so unphased, her pregnancy glow now overshadowed by the familiar doom and gloom that had haunted them their whole lives. And because Adora would do _anything,_ including drop her own fears and risk the chance she wouldn’t be prepared enough -or good enough- for their child, to prove the ugly thoughts Catra held about herself as wrong as they truly were, Adora left the book on the bedside table to take a walk with her wife. 

“Position the baby so that the head is half way in, half way out of the triangle. Now take the material at the top of the blanket and wrap it snuggly around the neck,” By this point, Adora’s hands had more than memorized the simple movements, but she figured a few more tries couldn’t hurt. Not the squash, at least.

The return of Catra’s insecurities about Shadow Weaver burrowed under Adora’s skin and asked her own fears to come out a play, that afternoon Catra lay sobbing in her arms and begging her to make a promise over a farfetched hypothetical. Adora could barely handle Catra comparing herself to that life ruining wretch and there were a few sorry trees trailing the back of their cottage she took her anger out on each and every time Catra insisted she condemned their daughter just by being her mother. Of course Adora was _never_ angry at Catra, but why couldn’t Catra see the mom Adora _knew_ she was going to be? The protective nurturer, the playful provider with a heart of unconditional and endless love for their baby?

_“I wouldn’t do this with_ anyone _else, Catra.”_ Adora said to her, holding her in the middle of the night after another nightmare- this time about Hordak’s portal. _“You’re not the person you were ten years ago and she’s so lucky to have you. I’ve got you, okay?”_

As Catra’s sniffles tapered off, her head buried in Adora's neck and fingers digging into her shoulder, Adora let the steady sound of her wife’s breathing lull her into the false safety of sleep. Her thoughts ran amiss entertaining her lingering furiosity with Shadow Weaver, what she would do to that woman if she could, and words she screamed at her mentor a decade ago came back to her. 

“ _You_ ruin _people! You ruin_ any _chance they could ever be happy!”_

Shadow Weaver ruined Catra then with no remorse all because she wanted to buy off all of Adora’s love and horde it for herself, she was ruining this for Catra now because even beyond death the incentive to ruin new meat was just too tempting.

_No,_ Adora held Catra tighter in her arms that night, disregarding any alarm at the way Catra curled up against and how sleeping that way could pose a risk to her body and the baby, _no, you don’t get to ruin anymore people. You ruined me, you ruined Catra_ , _and we’re paying for it but you don’t get to ruin our daughter! I won’t let you. You don’t get to act through us anymore._

Guide Laurel once warned her not to purposely open doors Adora wanted closed and locked for good for there was a reason she locked them to begin with. Chasing Shadow Weaver’s ghost down mental rabbit holes always bit Adora in the ass, but it wasn’t like there was anything else Adora could scream at/beat up whenever Catra continued paying for Shadow Weaver’s choices long after the events of the Heart. That night Adora didn’t just unlock the door and turn the handle, she kicked it down and practically challenged the sleeping dogs of her trauma to a rematch. One Adora was not ready for in the slightest.

Head still hazy with thoughts about keeping her newest promise to her wife, Adora sat sipping tea the next morning as Swifty berated her, his head stuck through the kitchen window, about the consequences of letting Catra sleep in too long, and the thought hit her like a stun baton to the back. 

_How bold it is of you Adora to pin all the blame of Catra’s state on me. Weren’t you, after all, the one to leave her to my devices when you picked up the sword and defected?_

Adora’s whole body jerked upward, the mug slipping from her lips and hot tea burning the top of her mouth. As the mug fell from her hands, fracturing into a hundred pieces upon impact against the table and sending steaming liquid across the surfaces, Adora stumbled out of her chair and away from the grip of a quickly burgeoning panic attack. 

_“Woah Adora,”_ Swift Wind’s jaw dropped, _“You okay there?”_

_“Yeah I just-”_ she clutched her chest, panting _“I burned my tongue, that’s- that’s all.”_

“ _Oh well, it kind looked worse than that-”_

_“I’m going to go check on Catra.”_

Nothing could’ve prepared Adora for the clash of the guilt she’d opened the floodgates of against her perfectionism. The two forces she let almost drive her into oblivion in her early twenties now began again to feed into each other at a rapid rate and before Adora knew what was happening in her head, she was relinquishing herself to both. Simple, normal worries of _“What if I’m not a good mom?”_ mutated before her eyes and beyond her control into the newer hysteric fear, _“I abandoned Catra. I loved her more than anything in the world even when we were eighteen, but I still chose She Ra over her because I thought I was doing the right thing. What if Shadow Weaver’s right? What if I abandon my daughter because the universe needs She Ra and exactly what Catra thinks is going to happen happens, but because I have to leave again?”_

Adora knew she was catastrophizing; she didn’t even wait for Guide Laurel to point that out in their session before taking responsibility. Instead Adora sat there in the emergency session she scheduled later that day, leg bouncing and hand gripping a clump of hair that had fallen out when she tried to braid it with shaking hands, convinced she was back at square one.

_“I don’t understand how this happened. One second I was fine! But now- now I’m a_ mess. _It’s like Shadow Weaver waived her hand and all my progress disappeared.”_

_“You were like this when you and Catra were about to get married, remember?”_ Laurel sighed and reminded her with a gentle yet knowing smile, _“Have you tried talking to her about this? She seems pretty central to this issue, Adora.”_

_“Uh- yes. Yes, I have.”_

Laurel raised an eyebrow.

Oh, like Adora wasn’t going to lie about that! Because how was Adora supposed to bring this up to Catra when it wasn’t exactly solidarity to tell her pregnant wife that hey, even if she messed up their little girl by reverting back to the Force Captain that nearly decimated their dimension, she still wasn’t going to score _half_ the damage Adora was going to score when she up and left in the name of justice, _again._ With Catra’s old wounds open and bleeding again, Adora was at a loss for how to reach out for her support without staining her hands. Besides, she had almost eight years of Guide work in her tool box, and Laurel was right when she reminded Adora that this was not the first time her neuroses became her. 

She could keep this spiral under wraps until it played itself out like it always did, right? No need to get Catra involved when all her focus was rightly with her progressing pregnancy.

_It’s been so weird not to talk to her about this,_ Adora wondered for the hundredth time as she held the blanket tight to her chest and balanced the squash between her knees, _I’m so used to talking to her about everything. It’s just a couple more weeks, though, thank Etheria. Catra’s dealing with enough right now and being pregnant has been hard enough on her without me whining and reminding her I left her back in the Fright Zone!_

Clutching the gourd to her chest, Adora lay the blanket back down on the floor and folded the corner down like she’d down a million times before. At this point repeating the technique was almost comforting, a way of numbing her frazzled nerves; when she could task in this way, then it didn’t matter if her motivations were wrong or if her anxiety was ruling her. The end result as that Adora was prepped and ready for her daughter to enter the world and that was all that mattered in these quiet, shame ridden moments Adora stole away in the nursery, tucked away in the low light and imagining the first _real_ time Adora would actually get to swaddle her baby and not the poor substitute this vegetable made.

Adora could swaddle any object by now, sure, but was she really ready for another person to depend on her completely? Just those thoughts of her actions back when she was Etheria’s most naive and gullible teenager beget the question: did the capability exist anywhere in her to make every sacrifice being a parent required and be _everything_ a child needed, everything her daughter deserved? When the weight of the planet’s fate rested on Adora’s shoulders, she gambled it too many times for comfort. Now just _one_ person depended on her, and Adora already loved her more than across the expanding universe and back again, yet the stakes had never been this high. Not even when Horde Prime held all of Etheria in his hands did Adora have so far to fall. If everything wasn’t perfect, if _she_ wasn’t perfect then-

“I think you got it.” a tantalizing voice from behind shattered Adora’s resolve and concentration. The squash flew from Adora’s grip three feet in the air, coming back down right onto her head with a _thump!_ as Adora yelped, cursing out loud, the trepidation in her voice the kind only shame could engender.

“Catra!” Adora, panting, whirled around and assumed a fighting stance out of habit to find her wife leaning on the rim of the door. Arms crossed casually, Catra stood there smirking as Adora softened at the sight of her; dressed in a lengthy grey tunic that accommodated the space of her growing belly and worn out leggings, Catra’s hair was bunched up in a loose bun on top of her head, tufts escaping on all sides and Adora could spot Melog’s blue mane behind her legs. Catra was- formidable. Lovely. A storm of wit waiting to be unleashed on her wife. Scrambling for the now bruised fruit, Adora swept her hair back and swallowed, “How-how long have you been standing there?”

AKA, _How much of my neurotic behavior do I have bullshit my way through?_

“Long enough.” Well that could _not_ be more vague.

Shuffling around Bow’s present of a finished crib they planned to move into their bedroom soon, Catra found Adora in all of her hiding’s spot glory. A sigh escaped Adora. By the look on Catra’s face, the way her eyebrows were raised in the _“We seriously need to talk, babe,”_ form, Adora could already taste the defeat in her mouth.

“I think you were about to break a record fattest swaddling for a second there,” Catra, her hands resting on her lower back, commented with a little too much mirth for Adora’s liking. She reached out her arm and gestured to the floor, Adora’s mouth forming an “oh” when she realized what her wife wanted. Gingerly bracing one hand on Catra’s back and the other on her arm, Adora guided Catra to the floor. Catra was not so big at this point every moment of hers was encumbered, but for someone who’d spent most of her life more agile and mobile than almost everyone around her, the loss of mobility was that much more pronounced. Melog curled up at her side once Catra maneuvered her legs into a comfortable position underneath her. “It was kind of cute. Haven’t seen you _that_ focused on anything since we were like, cadets.”

_That’s why you were watching right,_ Adora wanted to ask, maybe to throw in as a light tease, but Catra’s eyes fell to the object hidden in Adora’s lap. “Adora, is that a squash?” 

Adora tried to look away from the impertinent look in those split eyes and find something, anything else to stare at other than her wife. It was so unfair how Catra could read her with just one look, reach her hand deep into Adora’s soul and unravel her intentions with just one measly tug. The only injustice more unfair than that was that it was _impossible to look_ inconspicuous when she was avoiding Catra’s gaze for the rough texture of the nursery’s ceiling. 

“I know you’re excited for the baby to come, but cuddling stuff from the garden?” The mirth was back and growl crescendoed in Adora’s throat, Melog peeking their head up at the sound.

“I was just practicing, okay?” Adora responded in a huff. As pointless as it was to lie to Catra about why she was really hiding away, Adora didn’t have to give her the satisfaction- the burden- of the whole truth. Yeah, Catra had an air of relaxation surrounding her tonight (she must’ve gone to see Fae) that was borderline contagious and mirrored in Melog’s civility, but that just had Adora doubling down on her stance not let Catra in on her nightly spiral because who was she to shatter her wife’s tranquility so selfishly, “Newborns are much more wiggly than well, squash, and it’s not like I have anything else to practice on.” 

“Emphasis on wiggly,” Catra laughs, her gaze falling down to where her hands rested, fingers splayed out in the middle of her belly.

Adora lit up at Catra’s implication, her anxiety forgotten in the moment and abandoned for wonder. “Is she kicking again?”

Catra didn’t speak, rather her response was to reach for Adora’s hand and guide her palm to her belly, pressing her own hand above. Adora couldn’t help the little gasp that fell from her lips when the tiny tapping began beating on her skin through Catra’s. The next few moments were spent in reverent silence. Sporadic were the baby’s movements and she kicked with no rhythm in mind; no, she beat away at her surroundings, testing the power of the limbs getting stronger every day because that was all she needed. Practice. Nothing more was expected of her than to just exist, and to come to them as soon as she was ready.

As Catra’s eyes watched her, Adora found herself unable to keep her other hand from caressing Catra’s belly. She really _should_ ask; she knew that just because Catra was carrying their baby didn’t give Adora explicit permission to trample her autonomy, but in the moment she was too caught up in the wonder of it all to obey her own mental rules. The words _“this is amazing, she’s amazing,_ you’re _amazing,”_ got stuck where they formed in her throat. Again, Adora couldn’t find it within her to care. Catra was probably long tired of hearing them anyway. 

“She just can’t seem to settle down,” Catra hummed. She lifted one of Adora’s hands off her to lace their fingers together. “I wonder who she gets _that_ from.” 

Scoffing, Adora didn’t miss a beat, “Oh please, she’s just as much me as she is you.” Such a sentence felt too weirdly wonderful to be a tease, “The sonogram spell showed she has _your_ ears.”

“My ears and, apparently, your inability to relax.” Catra sent her a smirk.

Adora’s breath caught.

The words were a packed punch straight to Adora’s jaw and she tore both her hands away from Catra’s grip as if the simple, affectionate touches burned like placing her fingers in the middle of a stove top. Nothing about Catra’s tease carried hostile judgement, yet it sank down past Adora’s skin into her molecules. Catra, amidst Adora’s mixed signals, reached out for her, to bring her back to the moment that fell from their grasp. Stuttering, Adora turned away and wrapped her arms over her chest.

“Adora?” Catra’s voice was soft, and understanding to it that Adora wanted to run away from. “What is going on with you?” Next to her, Melog wiggled forward a few inches until their head was resting on Adora’s knees, eyes looking up expectant.

“You really think I wouldn’t be able to tell you were being weird, and now you’re just being plain distant? Is this where you’ve been coming every night for like the past two weeks you’ve been disappearing?” 

Turning her gaze away from Adora for a moment, Catra ran her hand down her belly and looked around the room they’d built together, her eyes lingering on the far wall. The only wall painted the same dark and unparalleled blue as the Etherian night sky, contrasting the soft golds, rose, oranges and light purple of the other three; in strokes of silver and bronze, constellations represented by starks lines and shimmering dots covered the farthest wall. Mara. Serenia. She Ra. An astrological chart of stories, a star map condensed into a gift for their child. Meticulously and with high standards, Adora and Catra worked together to pick the colors they wanted in the nursery, but painting the walls was a project of Catra’s (her earliest work with Perfuma had focused on picking healthier channels for her festering emotions, and following a series of nonstarters like tearing out pages of a journal just to shred them with her claws and an attempt at knitting that ended with Catra _playing_ with the yarn for some reason, Catra sat down to paint Melog one afternoon and then hauled a box of every tube of paint in Glimmer’s castle into their room in Bright Moon the next). The end result after weeks of walking around in a jumper smeared in blue and yellow with a paintbrush or two between her fangs was absolutely _mesmerizing_. Adora had brought the stars back to Etheria, and now Catra had brought them to their daughter.

Many of the constellations were obscured at the moment by boxes. The nursery was in a complete state of disarray- much like Adora’s headspace. Between the larger crib Adora was constructing on and off, Bow’s gifted cradle, a standing wardrobe, set of drawers and bookshelves donated by George and Lance and the piles upon piles of gifts sent to their home over the past few months, it was almost as if a mild bomb had gone off in this room. Adora could spot the intricate electronic mobile- the ornaments representing each region of Etheria danced and played music- Entrapta made, the baby clothes Scorpia sent over that Catra immediately put back in the box while making a face, a set of stuffed animals Glimmer’s parents brought over in person, all the blankets and hats and booties Castaspella knit in a flurry because “my _actual_ niece hasn’t had children yet, and isn’t that a shame? She and Bow would have such handsome babies. But no, she wants to focus on being Queen! Meanwhile I have all these patterns I’m _dying_ to try.”

Catra outright refused to have a party celebrating the birth of their daughter where guests could bring gifts and shower her with “creepy compliments” that only served to point out how close to her due date she was. It might have been spitting in the face of a tradition embraced by almost every Etherian culture, but Catra saw no value in the spectacle and Adora was more than happy not to add planning and organizing a big party to their accumulating to-do list. If Catra wanted to spend the last trimester of her pregnancy cuddled up against Adora on their couch while Melog raced Swift Wind out back in the Woods, then that’s what Catra would have. Peace and quiet. 

And privacy. 

The gifts came anyway. From the Alliance and their friends, that was expected and welcomed and embraced with personalized thank you notes Adora scribbled out between ambassador projects. From the _rest_ of Etheria? Dolls, diapers, books, three or four stun batons (Adora suspected ex-Horde officers behind that particular package and just locked them in a cabinet at the Embassy before Catra could ask), teething rings, pacifiers, wearable blankets and baby wraps- even Wrong Hordak sent a box containing vials of amniotic clone fluid, now also locked away in Catra and Adora’s office at the Embassy. Word got out that She Ra and General Catra, the _saviors_ _of Etheria,_ were expecting and now Adora and Catra were drowning in a sea of baby supplies they had no use for. It’s not like they hadn’t taken the time to comb through most of it deciding what was actually really adorable and thoughtful; a good chunk of the boxes were resealed still and stored much to Swift Wind’s chagrin in his barn, Adora and Catra agreeing that whatever officers or ambassadors at the Embassy had babies in the near future would make for good donors and that whenever Bow and Glimmer hopped on the baby train, they’d get saddled the rest.

_All these people thought of us,_ Adora thought to herself as she ran her teeth over her bottom lip. Hero worship, and all of its lavish sparkle, had dimmed on her long ago when certain demonstrations showed Adora what a potential distraction it could be when wielded by her enemies. And Shadow Weaver. Now surrounded by it, her at-large insecurities ate ravenously at the notions of acclaim Adora first had when the gifts started coming.

“It’s about the baby, isn’t it?” Catra answered her own question, her tone cutting through tension saturated in the air between them. Adora caught the twinge of sadness at the end of Catra’s sentence, and for whatever reason, that was the crack in her resolve that splintered everything. Slumping forward, Adora threw her head in her hands, a small whine escaping her throat. 

“I’m just- I’m afraid, Catra. I’m afraid I’m going to mess this up, mess _her_ up.” Adora flew through her confession and straight into the following silence. 

But Catra didn’t respond. _How original,_ she must’ve been thinking. For a few seconds, Adora regressed back to a place where she braced herself and listened for the sounds of Catra getting up and leaving her alone to the mercy of her distress, but a quiet purr from Melog was a loud reminder that they’d come such a long way. That Catra would stay, right here.

And she did.

“Okay.” Was all her wife said after a long stretch, like Adora’s answer was a let down to her initial expectations and a boring point of conversation.

Adora lifted her head, sending Catra a look through her bangs. “Okay? That’s- that’s all? You’re not upset?”

“I mean, I think you’re being a dumbass and that you’re wrong, but I’m not mad, Adora. Why on Etheria would I be mad?” Catra asked as she pulled Adora’s hand back from her forehead and laced their fingers together again.

“I dunno,” muttered Adora, “Because it’s stupid?”

“Well duh, but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it, and it definitely doesn’t mean you can’t talk to _me_ about it. C’mon Adora, I’m your wife. You know this goes _both_ ways.” Catra squeezed her hand and kept her grip firm until Adora’s fingers squeezed back.

Adora chuckled. The utter, insulting irony of it all. How many times had used the “I’m your wife” line on Catra to take a battering ram to whatever wall she was hastily building up out of old habits? How many times had Adora reminded Catra that their marriage was a two way street whenever Catra slipped into deflective defense on those days she was spent and without energy to be vulnerable? All that time spent coaxing Catra out of dark and lonely corners and into her arms to find their positions reversed, to know again the comfort Catra found in sulking alone and the risk she took whenever she grabbed Adora’s hand and let her in.

_“Adora,”_ Laurel had said when she caught Adora in her not so suave lie, _“there is nothing wrong with asking for help. You’ve done it before and you can do it again, just tell yourself that. Consider the facts, all the evidence you have that Catra won’t turn you away or even shut you down. When you isolate yourself instead of asking for the help you need from your support, you just give your doubts and insecurities more room and more time to convince you that you don’t need help. That you don’t deserve it, or that you can go it alone. But you don’t need to, Adora”_

Taking a deep breath, Adora internalized her Guide’s words, repeated them to herself like they were a prayer, and summoned scraps of courage from deep, _deep_ within. Guess she had been with these insecurities too long, their damage done. She looked up into Catra’s split and waiting eyes, and found herself abandoning the lies her mind told her for the truth in her wife’s expression. 

_I have asked for help before and those times were not, surprisingly, a disaster. I can ask for help again._

“I’ve been thinking, not really on purpose, about how- how I left you in the Fright Zone. When we were eighteen and I, you know, found the sword in the Whispering Woods.”

Catra’s eyebrows knit, “Uh, yeah, I do know. What does _that_ have to do with our kid?”

“It’s just-” This was not going the way Adora rehearsed it over and over and over in her head. Missing was the eloquence she possessed in her imaginary conversations with her wife when she sat at her desk across from Catra’s empty one, chewing on her pen until the ink broke and dripped down her arm- again, “I left you, even though I was in love with you, and became She Ra because I thought it was the right thing to do and-”

“It _was_ the right thing to do,” Catra’s voice steeled. “We’ve been over this, Adora, a _lot_.”

“But not before we got pregnant!” Adora practically shouted and Catra’s eyes doubled in size, the color of Melog’s mane shifting beside her leg. This sudden burst of her composure only served to push Adora deeper into her spiral- _I yelled at her, why would I_ yell _at her?-_ and she retracted further into herself. Further away from Catra.

There was so much more fear here than Adora knew there should be. 

“Hey,” a purr came in her direction, a gentle reminder to breathe, “Talk me through it, Adora. I won’t interrupt again.” 

Catra squeezed her hand again, an implied _“unless you say something stupid,”_ to her gesture and Adora exhaled, ready to try again. 

“I know you think it’s dumb to say that I’m going to mess up being a mom-” Catra snorted, but otherwise kept her mouth shut, “but I messed _us_ up, Catra. And I can’t stop thinking about how I chose the Rebellion and the Princesses and _She Ra_ over you, so who's to say I won’t do that again? Etheria and the universe, they still need me, they still need She Ra, so what if there comes a day when I have to choose again... and I choose wrong?”

Adora’s words didn’t weigh any less heavy on her shoulders than when she had them locked up in a box in her brain. The relief of letting someone in… didn’t follow. Catra’s tail flicked against the carpet, back and forth and back and forth, Melog humming with an almost undetectable energy, yet her lips stayed pursed and she wouldn’t make eye contact. Her hand had gone limp in Adora’s.

“That’s why I’ve been coming in here for the past few nights- well not _few._ I want everything to be perfect for her. I want her to know that I love her so much it _hurts,_ even when I’m off being She Ra and can’t be there for her. Or, am _never_ there for her, because I’m She Ra.”

When her follow up explanation did nothing to break the silence, Adora found herself wilting. Catra still wouldn’t meet her eyes. Neither would Melog. How did this happen? Had Adora said the _wrong_ thing? That wouldn’t be the first time! She was stuck in an uncomfortable limbo with her truths dropped like bombshells on her support system and it was damn near not worth it.

_Oh, asking for help is a_ good _idea, Laurel?! I can’t believe I bought into that! What a load of-_

“Shit, Adora. You’re _such_ a riot,” Catra burst out laughing, her hand flying to her forehead and ears flying back, and Adora watched as tears formed in her eyes. Sputtering, Adora scrambled to connect the dots. Was Catra not taking this seriously? Her anxieties, laid bare after torturing relentlessly her for weeks, were _funny_ to Catra?

“Catra!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!” her wife giggled. As she wiped the tears from her eyes, Adora rolled hers. So much for not being laughed at. Catra took a deep breath and tried continuing, “I’m not- I’m not _trying_ to laugh at you, I swear. I can see that this is really bothering you and I’m glad you told me instead of shoving it down like you did when we were teenagers, but honestly Adora? I don’t get it. To me it’s like, it doesn’t make _any_ sense, because you’re acting and talking like the _opposite_ of a parent who would just take off and leave. You’re compulsively swaddling a squash, for Etheria’s sake!”

“Well, I don’t _want_ to be a parent who just takes off and leaves! All I _want_ is to stay! But it’s not that simple, Catra. Nothing with us- nothing with me ever is!” Adora deflated as a wave of frustration left her.

“But it’s not the big deal you’re making it out to be! Adora, I _promise._ ” replied Catra, squeezing her hand. “Okay yeah, you’re She Ra and the planet and the universe need you, that isn’t exactly _breaking_ news, babe. Didn’t you learn how to balance being She Ra and our relationship? You did that because you love me, and if you love our daughter- which I _know_ you do- then you’ll do it for her just as easy.”

Adora’s shoulders fell, “I guess- I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“Yeah, because when you run off like this your brain has to justify it and so eventually you go back to drinking whatever fucked up juice Shadow Weaver and Light Hope were serving you about you having no choice in the matter and that you didn’t have any control. That’s literally _all_ I’m hearing right now.” 

“I do... sound _a lot_ like them.” _How did I not catch that?_

“So don’t listen to them, Adora.” Catra saw the momentary gap in her defense and used it to pull her closer, but she didn't tap into her strength. Adora went willingly, “Listen to _me._ Listen to me when I say that you _do_ have control and you do get to decide _not_ to abandon our child. You’re not someone’s puppet anymore, you’re my _wife,_ and you get to keep the promises you make, and I... I wouldn’t do this with _anyone_ else, understand?”

Swept up in the guttural certainty of Catra’s assertion, of the fierce and knowing look in her eyes, and the love she spoke with as she threw Adora’s own words back in her face, Adora’s hands moved on their own and she caught Catra’s face in, pulling her as close as matter would let them collide, kissing her hard and with intention. Because now Adora was the one at a loss for words. Catra reciprocated with the same heat, a purr rumbling against Adora’s chest as their hands tangled above the peak of her belly. 

Every cell in her body threatened to burst at the love Catra ignited in Adora. So long ago had this same volcanic intensity promised to be her demise, on and off the battlefield, only to find its true destiny in saving Adora; from peril, from death- from herself. The way Catra saw her spiraling and saved her not out of duty but out of unconditional love, was one of the many infinite reasons why she married Catra, why she chose her everyday. 

Why she was choosing her now. 

_I love you so much,_ the words lingered on Adora’s swollen lips as she pulled away, but Catra didn’t allow her to speak them. 

Purr lingering and voice husky, Catra kept on as she started kneading her fingers into Adora’s shoulder, “We were different people, Adora, when you left and became She Ra. We were dumb kids and all we ever knew was how to make decisions during war. We had to fall apart to come back together and I’ve accepted that,” Catra gaze fell to their hands, to her belly “but in case you forgot, let me remind you again that we’re _not_ at war anymore.”

Knocking their heads together, Adora smiled.

“We have each other, okay? We’re a team, and there’s no one around to _actively_ pull us apart. You’re the one always going on about how that’s already more than we had when we were kids. Plus, by the look of all the crap that’s in this room, we have a lot more than just each other. Our baby’s not going to be born into war or be raised as a child soldier,” Catra’s knuckles pressed into a knot in Adora shoulder she’d found, Adora flinching at the words “child soldier,” at the harrowing image of their daughter in a uniform, “She going to grow up to a brave and smart little girl and the most loved kid in the entire universe because _you’re_ her mom.”

Adora pulled away, a soft smile on her face, so that Catra could look her in the eye when she replied, “And because _you’re_ her mom.” 

The corner of Catra’s mouth turned upwards. _What a pair we make,_ Adora thought to herself and she leaned into to kiss her again. Holding her wife in her arms, their child awake and alive under their touch, Adora let Catra’s words take her, become her, bind her to the truth that Adora discovered when she lay nearly comatose at the Heart of Etheria. The universe- and all its double agents- were done taking advantage of Adora’s agency. The ghost of shadows past were right when they said Adora walked out on Catra in the Horde, but they could not be more wrong to argue Adora never stopped fighting, never stopped _wanting_ for the day where she could make her own choices and her choices only, even if she could never speak that want without shame.

No matter what worked day and night to push Adora away from Catra, Adora would always choose Catra in the end. Choosing love was a reflex now, a solidified habit. She never even thought twice about it anymore when it came down to it. 

And Adora knew sitting there in the nursery that she would never not choose her daughter, that she was She Ra for and _because_ of her wife and their daughter. She Ra may serve Etheria, but she did not belong to the planet or the universe. She belonged here, at her heart, at her home. 

“I’ve got your back Adora,” Catra whispered, shifting her weight away from Adora, “I’m pretty good a stopping you for doing stupid stuff.” 

“I’ve got your back too,” Adora, rubbing Catra’s wrist, smiled. 

Gone was the weight that kept her tied to this spot earlier. _I guess I can stop coming in here every night._ A piece of her heart sunk at the thought, however; Adora had gotten used to the feeling of closeness to her daughter that came with wasting nights in her future refuge. Here, Adora could indulge daydreams of holding her newborn baby close, of taking care of her and loving on her when her arrival was thirteen more weeks of wanting away.

Adora’s eyes trailed Catra as she stood up and stretched, not processing a single second of what her movement meant, too busy staring at Catra’s belly, the most obvious indicator of her progressing pregnancy. The ghost of her daughter’s feet and fists meeting her palm sent a shiver of excitement through Adora. Maybe… maybe that thirteen weeks wouldn’t be the eternity she thought.

Catra let out a yawn and turned toward the door before Adora’s train of thought snapped back into place. 

“Wait-” Adora called out. It wasn’t like Catra to reassemble all of Adora’s missing pieces with an emotional, vulnerable conversation, and not stick around to cuddle her. Not when that was how they _always_ did things, even back when they were dumb, clueless teenagers pining hopelessly after each other in the Horde and stealing- indulging- illegal touches. Now after being vulnerable and allowing her in on the whirlwind of her current anxiety, Catra was cheating Adora out of her well earned cuddles. “Where are you going?”

Catra, throwing her head back and throwing Adora a shit-eating grin, didn’t stop, “To the bathroom, dummy. I’m six months pregnant, or did you forget you knocked me up?” her voice hitched up a notch as she laughed.

It was nice- to see her laidback and joking like this, especially when the fear that kept Adora from having this conversation was that it would push her wife further away, send her back into those dark corners she hid in when Shadow Weaver venomously sunk her hooks too deep into her skin. 

Adora fought a smile at the challenge in Catra’s expression, and a million retorts about how Adora volunteered over and over and over and told her she could back out right up until the minute the sorercian pulled Catra out of the waiting room. 

“I’ll be right back.” Catra said and Adora straightened up without thinking. Oh, so _she_ was getting her cuddles. Laurel was right; asking for help _was_ worth it after all. “Don’t put a diaper on Melog while I’m gone.”

Catra sauntered out of the nursery, Adora’s snort becoming full-on laughter as Melog placed both paws on her knees and proceeded to lick her cheek. 

_

**_The Command Center; Seven Minutes Apart, 64 seconds (exactly)_ **

There’s something going on with Catra’s pants. 

Or more accurately, there’s something going on  _ in  _ Catra’s pants: a hot and damp pooling of fluid right between her legs she can’t determine the source of. It’s not like she has had a lot of sensation down there since she entered the third trimester and lost sight of her feet, most of her mobility checking out with that milestone. Swinging her head down there despite said loss of mobility just to check what’s going on under the hood doesn’t seem effective enough to justify the mortification of doing so in front of the soldiers piling up in the Command Center waiting for her next round of orders. 

The eight-minutes-between-contractions that Catra was clinging to with desperation when Melog decided to snitch on her- sorry, take matters into their own hands- has dwindled to a panic-inducing seven minutes. If she keeps progressing at this  _ super  _ convenient rate, then she’ll hit the five minute interval of real,  _ absolutely no turning back,  _ active fucking labor and her entire charade will have to come crumbling down. For the sake of her body, for the sake of her baby, with or without the Surge over. 

With or without Adora.

“Alright, everyone, listen up! We’ve got word on the storm/developing tornado that’s developing over Scorpia’s kingdom,” Bow, standing beside Catra as she tries to disguise her pathetic chair lean as exhaustion rather than an improvised position to alleviate the pain simmering in her lower back, announces to the battalions they’d called back to the C.C. “Princess Entrapta is due to call any minute now with an update about what Scorpia’s kingdom needs. Afterwards, General Catra will give you your orders. I know it’s been a long eight hours for everyone, but we need you guys to keep up the good work if we’re going to make it to the finish line. Etheria is counting on us.”

_ A long eight hours for everyone? Try  _ doubling  _ that, dipshits. _ She’s been laboring for sixteen brutal and neverending hours without any of the safety nets she spent thirty eight weeks putting in place, all while using her remaining brain power to keep the Princesses, citizens, and soldiers from falling into crevices brimming with burning and fatal magical light because “all of Etheria is counting on them”, but sure- being a soldier was  _ so  _ tough and tiring. 

Catra’s breathing turns shallow and she buries her face in the crook of her elbow as she runs her fingers up the inner seam of her leggings only to pull the pads of her fingers away moist. She digs her claws further into the chair’s rim. To add frustration to fuck up, Catra has no idea how much further she has to go because her contractions are just one out of many indications of her child’s determination to enter the world. It’s not like any of these volunteer soldiers or ex-Horde clones standing in the lousiest formation Catra’s ever seen waiting can look between her legs and tell her how dilated she is, or if what the fluid sticking to her thighs is what she suspects it is.

Catra is, by her own making, on her own.

Static rips through the air and flattens Catra’s head to her ears as the Tracker Pad in Bow’s hands lights up and a mass of purple hair ambushes the screen. Waiting out of the corner of her eye, Catra catches the background of the Whispering Woods and Emily, her back legs slipping under her, lumbers against a force of wind uncharacteristic for the magical forest. Something Spinerella yells makes it through the transmission, but there’s no split second image of a golden ponytail or any mention of Grayskull’s honor. Catra’s heart sinks to her stomach.

“Hello Etherian troops!” Entrapta starts as Emily lets out a robotic scream as she’s thrown back by a gust of rust colored fog and Catra braces herself against the back of the chair.

The Dryl Princess comes in second place for worst possible timing; the grand prize of first place, of course, tied between the magical Surge and the surge of oxytocin that flooded her brain and woke both Catra and her unborn daughter up in the middle of the night with a surprise in store. For some unbeknownst and probably stupid reason,  _ this  _ is the best time to bring the Command Center up to date on the havoc Scorpia’s kingdom is now facing head on, because Catra is about to face a  _ contraction  _ head on in front of Bow, in front of her soldiers, and maybe even in front of Entrapta if the universe is feeling extra devious. 

She estimates she has about two or three minutes before all hell breaks loose. Again.

“Emily and I are currently making our way through the Whispering Woods with Princess Team A. We are following the Surge through the woods as it tears apart vegetation and the planet’s surface at a rapid, unprecedented rate, however my main concern is that the dust storm that began several hours ago over the Crimson Waste is making its way east and becoming a full on tornado over…”

Grimacing, Catra shifts her weight between her feet. Her  _ one  _ job right now is to be paying attention to the scientific nonsense Entrapta rambles on about so she can dispatch troops accordingly, not send them straight into a vortex of a grave. But her focus is abandoning her, slipping through her hand like grains of sand, and Catra goes back again and again to the wet, gooey problem making its way down her thighs. Thank the Stars that the material of her leggings are a dark enough maroon no curious onlookers are asking any questions about.

She glances up for a quick second as Entrapta continues outlining her calculations for the lightning and sand tempest brewing above Scorpia’s kingdom, hair flopped over her forehead, only to see Frosta at the front of the crowd gesturing to her and mouthing at Bow, “Is she okay?”

Frosta, having followed the fourth battalion back to the Command Center, has joined Catra’s ever growing audience; if all of Catra’s bodily fluids haven’t leaked out of her by the time Entrapta is done lecturing, then the plan is to send her back to Bright Moon to assist Glimmer with securing civilian safety. For now the ice princess stands gaping slightly at every move Catra struggles to make like she’s some neglected circus animal.

Shoulders slumping with the Tracker Pad still in his hands and the screen facing the soldiers, Bow just shakes his head, mouthing back, “I don’t think so.”

_ Traitors. _

Catra sucks in a hiss, but she doesn’t miss the heat of Bow’s concerned stare following her. Honestly, the King is too worried about her for his own good or the good of the planet, for that matter. With Melog having ditched her here, there’s been no one around to shield Catra from his growing suspicion that her constant “I’m fine,  _ stop  _ staring at me and get back to work” commands were less than truthful. Bow’s drifting gaze from the War Table to the scrap metal she was making of the control panel is half the reason Catra’s started hiding out in the bathroom just outside the anterior door to bite down on a hand towel during her minute long contractions in  _ peace _ . 

The other half being the growing wetness that began trickling out of her vagina over an hour ago that Catra hasn’t exactly determined/admitted to herself the contents of yet. 

“-I would say that the frequency of the lightning is less disconcerting than the force of the winds that are gaining, and right now that our biggest concern is that the structure of the old Fright Zone buildings that are now acting as places of asylum are not going to hold against both the wind and the massive precipitation that I’m seeing on my readings-”

She’s either pissed herself multiple times or her water’s broken. Catra knows that it has to be one of those two things and this far along in her pregnancy, both are  _ equally  _ likely and both are going to require a change of clothing (a fun future conversation to look forward to). Whenever the interval between her contractions reset and she exhaled the remaining pain from her body, Catra took the hand towel out of her mouth, ignored the blood staining the white cloth, and resumed her hunt to find the cause. Catra’s heart jumped into the back of her throat every time she started digging around, terrified that if she dug deep enough her fingers would collide with the soft force of her baby’s slime covered head.

Not exactly a comforting picture for Catra to keep seeing behind closed eyes considering she was positioned over a toilet, but she powered through just like she had for the last _sixteen_ (going on seventeen) hours. Alone. 

_ Adora would be so mad at me  _ is the main theme connecting her frazzled thoughts.

Even as she stands here preparing to pool all her remaining resources to save face during her upcoming contraction, Catra wants to be able to say she smells the putrid stench of urine dripping to the bottom of her legs. The absence of such a giveaway scent is the biggest indicator her water’s broken- except it’s not Catra’s call to make. That was  _ supposed  _ to be the midwife’s call as Catra lay in Adora’s arms, safe in what’s now an empty nest. 

It was not supposed to be a call Catra herself tried making herself as she exhausted an inhumane amount of effort trying to maneuver her pants back on only to meet her next challenge trying to get off the bathroom’s disgusting floor. 

If her water breaks before the planet’s been fixed, then it's officially too late. Goodbye to her master plan of beating the Surge with just enough time to get back to the cottage! See ya to the remaining dignity of delivering her newborn child in a properly sanitized environment! That’s why Catra’s so stubbornly unable to make the call herself, because she doesn’t have any means of accepting the disastrous reality it promises. What, she’s just  _ supposed  _ to give birth here in the Command Center leaning against the War Table or worse, the tile floor that these untrained soldiers don’t  _ really  _ mop? Yeah, no thank you.

But as the Surge creeps on with no signs of stopping, Catra spends more and more time squatting against the bathroom wall, tears streaming down her face and ears pressed against the sound of Bow knocking politely to- once again- ask if she’s okay, wondering,  _ is this  _ actually _ where I’m going to have my baby? _

“-the Princesses are focusing on containing any potential damage since all the civilians are gone, but they are going to need back up,” Entrapta’s voice continues filtering through the Tracker Pad and Catra swallows a groan, avoiding Frosta’s eyes. The telltale  _ snap!  _ of metal detaching from a structure in the background sends Entrapta into a frenzy, “ _ Lots _ and lots of backup! Emily and I will keep running calculations, but it looks like we’re gonna be here for a lot longer than we originally thought!”

A sigh moves like a wave through the mass of soldiers. Catra, dipping her head behind the chair, rolls her eyes.

“Entrapta, signing off!” With the video signal cutoff, Bow’s Tracker Pad goes dark and the room waits for their King to speak.

“Alright everyone, you heard Princess Entrapta,” begins Bow, passing off his trusty tablet to Catra’s shaking hands after she’s heaved herself back up, “By General Catra’s order, there should be no civilians left anywhere in the kingdom, but the people who’ve left are going to need homes to come back to. We’ll be splitting the battalions by task. General Catra?”

Catra does her best to take a deep breath as covertly as she can manage, forcing her spine to become a straight line against her desire to keep hanging like a lifeless blob. Entrapta waisted most of her seven minute interval blabbering on about the different types of clouds the impending storm consisted of, and Catra’s internal clock has her on the last thirty seconds before total meltdown. She has to do this fast. Her claws tap out a familiar code on the screen and a map of the repurposed Fright Zone lights up on the Tracker Pad’s screen. Turning it around to show the soldiers, a simple press of a button also projects the same map across the War Table for those unlucky enough to be stuck in the back of this briefing. 

“Captains Avalona and Lioness, you will be taking what’s left of the third, fourth, and eleventh battalion to meet up the with the Clone forces in the Old Fright Zone,”  _ 21, 20, 19,  _ “Help the Princesses in preventing any additional structural damage to the Asylum Seekers’ village. I need the remainders of the second, seventh, and eighth battalion to rendezvous with Scorpia at the Black Garnet,”  _ 10, 9, 8,  _ “The rest of you are to take the supplies the Bright Moon guard has gathered and deliver them to the civilian outposts”  _ 3, 2, _ “outside of Salien-” 

_ 1 _ . 

The flooding rush of pain starts where it always starts, at the top of her abdomen, cutting off Catra's instructions and line of thought all in one brisk move of betrayal. Catra all but chokes on her tongue trying not to cry out, the efforts to stifle any noise failing as a groan escapes her throat like steam from a teapot. Eyes wide and face contorting, Catra can see the confusion as it comes over the expressions’ of her troops. So much for saving face with grace under pressure. 

“Uh General Catra?” Bow asks in a prompting manner over the sound of Catra’s pathetic, barely stifled moan.

Labor may be concerned with getting the baby out of her body in one piece, but Catra’s uterus is not the only muscle currently contracting. In the infinite ten seconds that pass with the skeletons of the battalions, Bow, and Frosta looking on, pressure builds up in the muscle of Catra’s arms as she desperately searches for something,  _ anything,  _ to channel her pain into. The next noise she registers is a loud and sickening  _ CRACK!  _ as her elbows collapse inward and the image on the War Table disappears.

“MY TRACKER PAD!”

“Huh?” Catra, her vision blurry, glances down _ ,  _ “Shit.”

Her arm catches the edge of the chair and she stumbles into the back of it, claws digging into the now halved tracker pad. A murmur passes through the crowd, Bow practically squealing at the death of his possibly oldest friend.  _ Did I just do that?  _ Catra’s thoughts ring hazy in her head only to be decimated completely by the physical, unrelenting agony as it peaks at the apex of her hips. 

“Woah,” one soldier whispers.

“Dude, General Catra looks like crap right now.”

“Do you think it’s the baby?” Catra hears Frosta whisper and she forces herself upright on the back of the chair.

“Enough!” she commands, wielding one half of Bow’s broken tracker pad, “You have your orders, now  _ move _ ! Dismissed!”

If a soldier is good for anything, it’s taking an order without questioning it. The sparse battalions spare Catra a few bewildered looks before moving out, filing out of the Command Center behind their assigned Captains for the day, but no one questions her and no one says another word about the baby. A familiar jerk in her belly has Catra sighing before her forehead comes to rest on the chair.

_ I think they’re onto us, kiddo. Go back to sleep, I’ll take care of this. _

Out of the corner of her eye, Catra watches Bow and Frosta huddle close, speaking in hushed whispers. She knows where this is going, she knows that they have an agenda and that in less than thirty seconds, they’ll turn their vulture-like intentions on her. Their interrogation skills may be a joke, even combined, but Catra is at the end of her line. She basically yelled “hey everyone, guess who’s having contractions!” when she broke Bow’s most precious piece of equipment like it was as easy as folding a piece of paper.

It’s time to come clean. Well, it’s about sixteen hours past time to come clean, but one admission of complete failure at a time. With the fate of the planet still in jeopardy, Catra knows her new angle has to be the opposite of what she’s actually feeling: calm, collected, in control. The last thing she needs is everyone around her spazzing out because her internal meltdown over being a failed mother before her child even gets her bleeds out into her external environment. So when Frosta and Bow start inching their way over to her and her improvised birthing position over the chair, Catra lets her tail hang relaxed, and takes a deep breath.

Frosta doesn’t beat around the bush. “Um, did you pee your pants? Is that like, normal?”

Catra’s eyes can’t roll any farther back in her head, but Bow doesn’t give her the space to respond.

“Okay, I know what you told me while you were in the bathroom before, but  _ something  _ is wrong, Catra!”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Catra declares with force, letting the two halves of Bow’s now shattered Tracker Pad fall to the seat of the chair, before standing to eye what’s become a trickle of fluid staining her pants thinking,  _ wow that’s bad,  _ “I just need one of you to find me another way to communicate with the Alliance and a change of clothes because I think my water just broke.”

_ “Just broke.”  _ Catra almost laughs at the blatant lie. If “just broke” means an hour ago, then yeah. If “just broke” means Catra can finally be truthful with herself about how far along her labor has progressed, then duh, of course her water  _ just  _ broke. It’s become pointless to pretend that the steady leak in her pants is anything else, that Catra’s still in the clear, that she still has time to do this the  _ right  _ way. The Surge has gone on, beating down the planet and stealing her wife away from her, for way longer than Catra bargained for. Might as well fold to the crumbling reality that her baby is coming  _ now  _ and that she never actually stood a chance at being a good mom. 

Bow’s reaction as pure stress overcomes his entire being might’ve been hysterical if not for the growing stakes, “You’re  _ what  _ just broke? Are you telling me you’re in labor?!” his voice cracks like the pure panic of seeing Catra giving birth sends him back ten years.

“No Bow, I’ve just been having regular contractions for the last sixteen hours but I’m sure the midwife will think that’s  _ completely  _ normal- yes, I’m in labor, King Dumbass!” Catra shouts back in exasperation. 

Letting her body hang off the chair, Catra exhales, angry for the millionth time that hour that  _ nothing  _ is going according to plan. Catra’s due date was destined, prophesied by mother after mother to be the day where her body was at its most powerful. But this unflattering state of exhaustion and soggy pants is not empowering in the  _ slightest  _ sense of the word. Her desire to break down and cry while she puts up a front of normalcy does not feel like strength. No, Catra’s never felt more useless or weak or less powerful her whole fucking life than she does right now having messed  _ everything  _ up.

“ _ That’s  _ what that stuff is in your pants?!” Frosta jumps back and gags. 

_ Seriously?  _ Catra wants to ask them as it dawns on them full force what’s really been going on with her,  _ I’m the one who’s cervix is about to be open ten centimeters, they just happen to be here! Am I the one freaking out the least? For Eternia’s Sake! _

“Why didn’t you  _ say  _ anything?” Bow whacks his hand on his forehead.

“This is  _ so  _ gross.”

“Why did you come to the Command Center if you knew you were in labor, Catra? Wait, does Adora know?”

Growling, Catra whips her head up in spite of the way her entire body protests, “I didn’t say anything because”  _ because I’m scared shitless of what this means. I’m not ready to go into labor without Adora here. I’m not ready to fail, okay! I wanna see my daughter more than anything in the damn world but it wasn’t supposed to be like this! I’m supposed to keep her safe! I thought I had more time!  _ “Of the way you’re reacting right now! Me being in labor can’t pull any focus away from the Surge. There are  _ lives  _ at stake, Bow, in case you forgot! Glimmer’s life  _ and  _ Adora’s! That’s why I came in today.”  _ not just because I was in denial about my contractions or the fact that I’ve doomed my baby by going into labor at the worst possible time!  _

“Okay, okay, okay” Bow takes a deep breath and puts his hands up, abandoning his momentary alarm for his usual royal composure, “What do you need  _ us  _ to do, Catra?”

Catra, scoffing, turns the chair around and braces herself on it, allowing her left knee to rest between her belly and the cushioned seat, “I just told you  _ not  _ to focus on me. You’re the King and right now your job isn’t to be my nurse, but to lead the Alliance and the battalions and get us out of this mess! I’m not in active labor-”

“Then what  _ are  _ you in?” mumbles Frosta.

“- so there’s no point in standing around gawking at me.”

“Okay well,” Bow strokes his beard, “how long do we have  _ before  _ you're in active labor?”

“I think we should get Adora,” Frosta says and Bow nods his head in ardent agreement. 

“No!” Catra’s response is immediate. “Do  _ not  _ tell Adora. She can’t know until the Surge is on the decline because we can’t risk her losing She Ra!”

She practically whimpers as the demand leaves her mouth because there is  _ nothing  _ more that Catra wants beyond the safety of her child than for Adora to materialize by her side and take hold of her. Whenever she wasn’t wasting away in the bathroom through contraction after contraction, Catra spent more and more time staring at the exterior entrance, getting her hopes up that everyone that entered since Melog left would be her wife rushing in to take her home. Even now Catra looks up and wills the doors to open, to bring her Adora.

This desperate moment is a culmination of a thousand broken promises. Adora made her a promise that she would be  _ here  _ to make sure Catra didn’t descend to such a place of failure that her sins would be comparable to Shadow Weaver’s, yet now Catra’s endangering her baby’s safety just by using this germ infested chair for support. But the shoe is never not on the other foot; Catra made Adora a vow to be honest about anything that was happening with her body, with their baby. Catra promised Adora that she would  _ always  _ have a choice, but Catra took it away from her just the same. The first person who should’ve known about her contractions shouldn’t have been Bow or Frosta, it should’ve been her baby’s mom. It should’ve been Adora.

Catra has failed her wife and her baby in the same move. Her whole family, just like that. Just remembering how ecstatic Adora was for this day drives a wedge into Catra’s heart. Adora built the Nest, Adora had been prepping everything Catra would need for the days after delivery,  _ Adora  _ got her through this pregnancy. Adora had wanted more than anything to be by Catra’s side during these interminable hours to see their baby come into the world; Adora  _ promised  _ she would be. 

And Catra can’t reach out to her now knowing the look that will be on Adora’s face. Catra can’t handle the mounting contractions  _ and  _ the hurt her wife will harbor for being kept in the dark. Letting her walk out their home this morning without knowing the truth was a complete act of betrayal on Catra’s part, but she knows Adora will just blame herself for not seeing what was hidden from her and nurse that blame like an open wound. Catra’s colored the  _ one  _ experience Adora was looking forward to more than anything.

_ She’s going to think that she chose wrong, and that’s all my fault,  _ Catra heaves out a shaky sigh,  _ Shadow Weaver was right, I’ll never get to a point where I stop hurting the people I love. Or disappointing them.  _

Catra runs her hand through her mane as she stifles a sob, tough questions chipping away at the rest of her resilience. What are the odds Adora can save the day with enough time to get back here for the baby’s birth? Definitely dwindling. Is Catra really going to labor without her or be the person who makes Adora’s decision for her that she’s to be kept out of the loop, when an entire life of handling sat at the roots of Adora’s issues, eating away at her agency until there was almost  _ nothing  _ left? 

_ What if I tell Adora,  _ and holy Eternia it’s all Catra wants to do,  _ and what if what she was so scared of comes true. What if she picks She Ra- again- over me? Over us? _

She can feel Bow and Frosta’s stares as they wait for her to come up with a sensible plan and her hand comes to rest on her belly. Panic and anger and fatigue have worn her down until Catra is left holding the core of her deepest fear: Adora leaves her again, and the fault rests on her shoulders because Catra pushed her away in shortsighted attempt to prove she was strong enough to do this  _ alone.  _

“So, are we getting Adora?” Frosta tries again, “And maybe a mop?”

“My baby is not about to  _ fly  _ out of me now that my water’s broken!” Catra, nostrils flaring, sends her a look.

Frosta responds in kind, “Not now it isn’t!”

“Catra, what else are we supposed to do?” Having dropped all pretenses of politeness, Bow walks toward her even as she pulls away further into her body, “None of us know your birthing plan, or who your midwife is, we don’t know anything about what you’re going through right now! But you know who  _ does  _ know that? Adora! You have to let us get her!”

“Oh, like she  _ would  _ come back! You know Adora, the selfless hero, always putting herself first no matter the cost!” Her claws dig into the taut skin over her belly as she collapses on the chair’s rim. Catra is fully aware that she’s lashing out to cover up her real shame and talking out of her ass and out of fear, just to beg for space to cut off the limb she’s trapped in peace, but there’s absolutely nothing left in her to keep herself from falling apart. Not even the pride she clung to earlier. “Ugh, I  _ knew  _ this stupid planet couldn’t go  _ one  _ day without her!”

_ Why try to hide your truth from your allies, Catra? Can’t you admit to them, if not Adora, that you’ve failed her? I always knew you never held a candle to her, it was pointless to try and prove your something you’re not. Like a child trying to hide the sheets after wetting the bed, your shame becomes you and it will be your undoing. You  _ and  _ your child’s. _

This is the precipice of giving up that Catra stands on, old shadows suffocating her and her determination to beat them failing her. The voice of Shadow Weaver’s ghost is just getting louder and louder in her head; how is she supposed to complete this grueling, possibly fatal task of childbirth without an exorcism first? How is she supposed to do this at all, having no greater need for Adora than right fucking now, having failed her once and for all?

_ I can’t do this.  _

“Catra, you  _ know  _ that’s not true,” Bow says, his voice quiet and assured, resting his hand on her shoulder. Her hand comes to grasp his, because wow- if he only knew.

“Yeah,” Frosta joins in, “She Ra is Adora’s job and all, and she is really important to Etheria, but so is the whole Alliance. We do have  _ other  _ princesses to help with the Surge, so it probably won’t be a big deal if Adora comes back. I mean, didn’t Etheria survive for like a thousand years without a She Ra?”  __

“That is  _ true,  _ Frosta and a great point. Look, Catra, I know that you’re probably freaking out and I know that this is  _ not  _ the optimal time or place to be in labor, but I also know that if this was happening to Glimmer, you wouldn’t even let her  _ try  _ and tell you what to do! You would go get me immediately!” continues Bow and Catra wipes a swell of tears from her eyes, cursing her hormones.

“Yeah,” she sniffles, “I guess.”

Crouching down to meet her eyes, Bow squeezes her shoulder and smiles, “And we  _ both  _ know Adora would fight tooth and nail to make sure she got back to you and the baby.” 

Catra’s breath hitches; she knows he’s Bow holds the upper hand of the truth she’s adhered to for the last ten years. That look of assurity, of determination in Adora’s eyes as they held each other that night on the Nursery floor comes back to Catra as she closes her eyes. Just because Adora occasionally needed a reminder to kick her into gear didn’t mean she  _ ever  _ gave up on Catra, or would ever  _ think  _ of giving up on their family.

Guess Catra just needed the occasional reminder.

“She’s spent the last nine months talking my ear off about you guys, of  _ course  _ she’ll come back. And Frosta’s right, the Alliance can handle it. I mean, it’s not exactly our first day.”

“Definitely not.” Frosta nods in agreement.

“Please Catra, let us help you  _ and  _ your baby.” Bow finishes.

Catra lets out a sigh of defeat. She’s lost this battle, but what were the spoils of winning it anyway? Crying on the bathroom floor through another contraction while Shadow Weaver gave a sermon about her sure-to-be detrimental parenting? Watching Frosta be continuously disgusted by this natural process has to be better than what she was doing. 

_ And by the time they find Adora, I’ll be so drunk on my own pain to think anything of hers. Probably. _

“Okay.”

“Yes! Thank Etheria,” sighs Bow before standing up straight and gesturing towards Frosta, “Frosta, I need you to find where Glimmer is and get her back here. Bright Moon should be in the clear by now and the Guard can more than handle whatever she’s in charge of. I’m going to try and get in contact with Adora, and if I can’t get a hold of her, I’ll work through Princess Team A’s Correspondence Pins.”

Frosta’s already jogging away by the time Bow finishes “Got it!”

“Catra, is there anything else you need?” the King asks her before making a break for the control panel.

“Mhmm,” Catra closes her eyes and shakes her head, “It’s pretty much just going to be contraction and contraction and there’s nothing either of you can do about that.”

_ I’m the one that got myself into this mess. _

Yet as her hands fall down the curve of her belly, Catra’s shoulders relax for the first time in sixteen hours no longer holding the weight of the truth. Look at that: Catra’s told people she’s in labor, has given them permission to get Adora and more apparently, and somehow the world hasn't ended (yet). The relief that floods through her system is almost an antidote to the exhaustion, an arrow in her quiver against the pain to be expected in the next few minutes. 

But hey, at least Catra will be able to howl through this next one without playing pretend. 

“Uh Bow,” Frosta calls for the King and he hurries over to where she stands by the War Table, “you might want to take a look at this?”

“Look at what- oh hey, would you look at that! She Ra’s marker is moving on the map.”

“It’s coming back this way,” adds Frosta. 

“What?”  _ Adora’s coming this way?  _ Catra bolts up with all the strength she can muster. Keeping her knee on the chair, she pushes off with her other foot and maneuvers her way over to the projected map, her watery gaze falling to where Frosta points. 

Sure enough- the Princess and the King are right; the gold pin that hovers above the three dimensional array of the Whispering Woods is traveling at a steady pace  _ away  _ from the Asylum Seeker’s Village in the old Fright Zone, heading back towards the Command Center. Mouth agape, realization dawns on Catra before Frosta and Bow can put two and two together.

“She’s moving too fast to be on a skiff,” Bow mutters, “You think she’s on Swift Wind?”

“No, Swift Wind went with the last of the civilians to Salineas. Maybe Entrapta rigged a skiff?” 

Catra just lets out a sigh and collapses into the chair. 

“Are you freaking  _ kidding  _ me, Melog?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Bow’s Trackerpad.
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts!  
> See you next time!


	5. 'cause I still believe it won't be like before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But Adora had been alone- her friends cut off from her by danger she’d failed to keep them safe from, Catra miles away from her and silent for some untold reason. The universe moved an inch to the left on her. And now… now Adora was the only left to make these hard calls."
> 
> Separated by choices made of their own accord, Adora and Catra are forced to take some calculated risks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a couple things to say about the reception of the last chapter- I’ve been writing fic for mmmmm, five years? And I’ve never had that many comments about a choice a character made  
> and people being pumped for that choice. It blew my mind. Thank you all for commenting, and all hail Melog, MVP.
> 
> Last thing: this chapter (and the next) will be a little longer than the last four chapters because they are three scenes instead of four. Also because this chapter kind of wrote me.

**_The Edge of the Old Fright Zone/ the Asylum Seeker’s Village; Hour Seven of the Surge_ **

Adora cannot shake the feeling that _something_ is wrong.

And it’s nothing that She Ra is telling her; no, this is a feeling that goes deeper, past the enhanced instincts of the celestial goddess that resides within, a primal gut reaction Adora hasn’t experienced since her days as cadet with the Horde, counting her footsteps as she trespassed the halls so she’d never end up in Shadow Weaver’s war path. Neither is it the Surge that rages, plummels, destroys _everything_ in its path in wakes of blinding light and has kept Adora on her toes- in She Ra’s form- for the last seven hours. Because the earthquakes ravaging Bright Moon and the behemoth roots erupting from the soil and the windstorm knocking the trees of the Whispering Wood flat upon the ground are _normal_ Etherian events, not cause for this unshakeable concern.

This desolate knowingness that _something_ is off had started as nothing more than a weird twist in Adora’s stomach, back before the skiff she rides in now carrying Spinerella and Netossa darted out of Bright Moon and headed for the eye of the Surge’s storm in Plumeria. As the three Princesses aided the dispatched battalions in ushering out all the disorganized clumps of Bright Moon citizens and their livestock, their Correspondence Pins lit up with new orders from the Command Center.

 _“Adora,”_ Spinerella called out to her over the crowd as Adora reunited a toddler she found on the crowd’s frills with his grandmother, “ _We have new orders from Catra!”_

 _“She wants us to go to Plumeria!”_ Netossa shouted in addition. 

Adora hit her chestplate without having to think twice at the sound of her wife’s name, palm colliding with the Pin, and found the newly revised map with Catra’s latest commands detailed in the holograph. But even as her eyes studied it, golden lasso flying overhead to catch a spooked horse trying to make a break for it, a long forgotten alarm system gathering dust in the back of her consciousness started going off in her brain. Quiet, at first, yet significant enough, _familiar_ enough to make a bad feeling an urgent one. And the next time Adora got a chance to look up, it was as if her entire reality had been moved half a centimeter to the left. 

_It’s_ just _a feeling,_ Adora tries to tell herself even now as she grips the skiff’s metal sides so the wind doesn’t blow her overbroad, despite the alarm in her brain only growing louder and more consuming by the second, _and feelings aren’t facts._

Feelings- emotions are, yes, the _core_ of She Ra. Love proves itself over and over again to be the most powerful force in the universe, the most _powerful_ magic, because it is the energy that She Ra herself is manifested from. Adora knows this, Adora has learned this from the hardest lessons, but it's not the only truth about her other self that those lessons of unfathomable pain have taught her. The more Adora doubts herself, the more time she spends trying to right the centimeter of reality that’s moved left, the less focused she is on channeling that love that creates She Ra. If Adora gives into the feeling, not knowing quite exactly, what it is, she risks taking a head first plunge into fear. And not even She Ra is immune to fear. That is her ultimatum.

_What’s Catra always saying? “Don’t get so lost in your head I can’t find you anymore.”_

Adora bites her lip.

Her squad made it out of Bright Moon unscathed if not irritated, yet Adora couldn’t leave that feeling behind. Plumeria could’ve been a distraction from this gut instinct if it hadn’t only made it worse. She tasks, because that’s what She Ra is for and it’s what Adora does best, shielding civilians and rescuing wild animals from the cataclysms of light tearing up the ground and severing debris in perfect halves with her sword- but the alarm in her stomach doesn’t ever fade away.

It only spread, is spreading. Adora can feel the way She Ra phases in and out of her cells, because as much of her dwindling energy as Adora puts into keeping Her there, this feeling is pushing Her out of the space Adora needs Her in. The planet (Catra, and their baby) needs Her in. 

“You’ve got that look on your face again!” Out of the blue, Netossa is yelling over the tempest at Adora from the other side of the skiff. Despite Spinerella’s efforts to use her powers to spare them from oncoming winds and keep their skiff from blowing into oblivion, the noise created from the gusts seeps past her protective barriers and is making it _impossible_ to think straight. “The Heart Blossom is going to be _okay,_ Adora. Perfuma can heal it just fine- even though you did snap it in half like a twig.”

Adora grimaces. “It’s not that,” _but thanks for the reminder I almost destroyed a runestone with my bare hands. Really needed that pick-me-up!_

Today, She Ra has been both a first move and a last resort. Adora goes, well is _sent,_ wherever She Ra’s abilities are needed most, and it’s a triage to decide where those places on a planet crumbling under the weight of raw magic suspending every living thing into danger are. (Adora’s just glad that for once she’s not making _that_ call; enough of this is her fault already.) Because the hotspots of the Surge follow a somewhat predictable path through the Runestones _,_ sending charges of energy and adapting the pure magic to whatever element the Runestone commanded, firing waves of tremors and mudrivers and lightning throughout the kingdom, Adora has spent most of the day hoping from stone to stone, disaster to disaster. A Runestone will seldom bend to the will of anyone but their Princess, but doing so is a delicate, uninterruptible process that requires 99% of a Princess’s energy for an extremely precarious amount of time. She can’t fight off tendrils of vines or an oncoming avalanche or chunks of building coming straight for her.

That’s where She Ra comes in.

The Moon Stone was, relatively, a piece of cake. Glimmer had been underneath the roaring Runestone, channeling both her father’s sorcery and her mother’s elemental magic into the gem’s oval surface, for several hours by the time Adora escaped the frenzy of battalions trying to get families out of collapsing houses and caught up with her. Just a simple boost of She Ra’s own magic blasted from her sword added to Glimmer’s effort quieted the Runestone. But like a virus searching for another host, the magic flowed out from underneath their feet, down the Moon stone tower’s structure back in the system of cracks it had carved and left all of Bright Moon blinking up at the previously obscured noon sun. 

_“Oh thank goodness,”_ Glimmer collapsed to the ground, panting as she lay over her knees practically shaking, _“I don’t know how much more of that I had in me. But I guess it could be worse, right?”_

And because the feeling had yet to settle in and take her hostage, Adora agreed, cracked a joke, with a confident smile. 

She gave Glimmer away to the Guard before making her way back to city streets where the dust had yet to settle and the Bright Moon citizens were still trapped in their state of panic when Catra ordered her squad to Plumeria. Plumeria, where getting the Runestone settled and not _dying_ proved to be much harder than in Bright Moon.

As soon as the skiff swept the edges of the floral kingdom, a loud and thundering _CRACK!_ sounded behind them and immediately, all three of the Princesses were thrown out onto the ground. Adora, mouth full of grass and dirt, turned her neck back to see the agent of the sneak attack: an enormous tree root- one of many twisting and snaking through the surrounding village- had extended itself, lifted up, and hit the ground like it had a mind of its own. 

_“We gotta get to Perfuma,”_ Was all Netossa said, and Spinerella and Adora nodded, resolute to follow her. 

But getting to Perfuma was no different than boldly courting death. The gigantic tree roots, impregnated by the Surge’s magic, did turn out to have minds of their own and were all in on the plan to keep the squad and any soldiers as far away from the Heart Blossom as possible, gating the Runestone in an ever changing obstacle course that was nearly impossible to traverse. Twice a root grabbed Adora by the ankle- the same ankle- when her back was turned, and before she could bring her sword down on the sentient plant, she’d hear a sickening _snap_ as it pulled her to the ground, twisting her foot in an unnatural way and her vision would go red. The joke was on those ugly vines; as soon as the red faded, a glowing gold replaced it, and Adora would be back on her feet in no time. 

_You have_ got _to get it together,_ Adora berated herself each time despite her quick recovery, _you’ve got to get out of your head!_

Two twisted ankles for Adora, three broken ribs and a torn ligament for Spinerella, and a crushed hand for Netossa- all healed by She Ra, all still sore and aching by the time they reached the whirlwind of roots whoomphing around guarding the Heart Blossom. Many of the soldiers stayed back to keep the roots from tearing up the property of the long gone Plumerian villagers, but before then the obstacle course had been a sea of gold, Adora healing anyone with just the touch of her hand that called out to her.

 _“I can’t get to it! The Runestone!”_ Perfuma’s voice cut across the shifting, conscious landscape and sword in hand, Adora whirled around to find her in an offense position; both hands extended, the Princess held off multiple roots coming for her throat at multiple angles, keeping the sentient weeds away with her own green vines. Behind her, two young villagers stood brandishing bats and sticks to keep the roots from catching their princess in her blind spot. _“How am I supposed to help the Heart Blossom when it won’t let me in?”_

Puncturing a root coming _again_ for her ankle, Adora shouted back, _“It’s okay, Perfuma! We’ll get you to the Heart Blossom, just hang on!”_

_"Netossa!”_

_“Spinny!”_

Adora didn’t think. Pivoting on her toes she turned around to find Netossa ripped up from the ground, the tip of a root wrapped taut around her waist, and was now dangling her in the air. Right as Netossa reached out for her wife and called her name, another root came up from behind and took advantage of the Princess’s momentary distraction. Adora watched, grip on her sword tightening, as Spinerella was thrusted up in the air.

 _“Spinerella!”_ the sound of bark colliding with Adora’s wrist bracer covered Spinerella’s screams, _“Netossa! Hold on, I’ll get you guys down-”_

 _“Adora!”_ Both Spinerella and Netossa called out her name, but it was a fraction of a second too late. Adora’s neck snapped back with a dizzying _SNAP!,_ one of the smaller roots having caught her by the end of her ponytail, slamming all her body weight into the dirt without forgiveness. The Sword flew from Adora’s grip and landed in a pile of the devilish foliage, limbs swarming around and engulfing the blade.

 _“Ow,”_ Adora moaned through the blood in her teeth. Past the blurring of her vision, Adora could still make out the shimmering, the fading, the sensation of She Ra’s form abandoning her. Beyond the deafening high pitch vibrations reverberating through her skull and threatening to shatter it, Adora could hear her friends calling out for her- for each other.

_“Adora!”_

Another groan slipping past her lips, Adora tried to twist against the binding that had traveled up her body and pinned her arms to her chest only for her movements to be in vain. She flexed her fingers, knuckles protesting the practiced movement, to call back the Sword. Her grip stayed empty.

_Have to get out. Have to...have to save the Heart Blossom. Have to get home alive._

_“Adora!”_

For a brief second Adora’s vision went a bluish white, causing panic to rise up like bile and burn the tissue of her throat, but it was nothing more than one of Netossa’s nets coming down around her to shield her from the encroaching enemy. The roots hissed as the edges of the trap cut through their flesh and stopped them from overwhelming Adora any further. Adora struggled nonetheless.

_Need the Sword. Need Her. Can’t keep getting hurt, can’t keep getting distracted._

_“Adora,”_ a soft voice cut through the chaos, but it didn’t belong to Netossa or Spinerella swinging up in the air still trying to reach out to each other and break free of their restraints. It didn’t come from Perfuma still holding her own against a siege of barbaric vegetation or from the terrified screams of her advisors ringing in Adora’s ears. _“Get up.”_

Adora’s hand, free of the branching constraints, closed around her Correspondence Pin and she sucked in a gulp of air. She let her eyes flutter close for just a split second and waited for another. What could’ve been the fraction of time that meant life or death in battle- Adora gambled it greedily. And she waited for the voice to give the command, to light the spark behind the fire, and remind her _why_ she fought in the first place. What she fought for.

_“Adora, we need you. Get. Up.”_

When Adora opened her hand again, the Sword appeared in her grip. When she opened her eyes, they glowed a violent and determined blue. Adora’s cry echoed through the horizons as she flexed her biceps and pushed her arms out against the branches twisting tighter and tighter, scraping and burning her flesh even as it healed just as fast as it tore. Try as they might to strangle her for even one second more, Etheria’s corrupted magic was no match for its purest, original form. One more forceful flex and one more guttural cry from Adora’s throat and the roots broke, their echoing snaps carrying across the battlefield. 

_“Finally,”_ Adora wiped the blood from her mouth, pushing herself up and kicking any more twigs with a death wish away from her newly healed ankles. She glanced around- left, right, left- heaving a sigh as she took in the information of her surroundings at rapid speed. Netossa and Spinerella unable to use their powers to get down with the roots swinging them back and forth. Perfuma losing ground and _fast._ One of her village advisors caught by the knee, dragged away while the other advisors scrambled to catch their hands.

 _The roots, I_ need _to stop the roots. The roots are coming from the tree so how do I- the roots are coming from the tree! The roots are coming from the tree!_

In that moment, Adora had desperately needed a way to intervene and save her friends before the rogue tendrils of plants choked the life out of every last one of them. And yes, the idea that came to her was one of pure brute force; it was the _definition_ of tactless strategy, and could’ve brought Adora and her squad a _world_ of pain if Adora aimed even slightly to the left. If Catra had been there- if Catra had been able to fight or had even been _communicating_ with them from the C.C- she’d make sure Adora would never hear the end of how _stupid_ her decision to destroy the Heart Blossom tree with She Ra’s magic was.

But Adora had been alone- her friends cut off from her by danger she’d failed to keep them safe from, Catra miles away from her and _silent_ for some untold reason _._ The universe moved an inch to the left on her. And now… now Adora was the only left to make these hard calls.

So without asking for permission, without even shouting _“Hey guys, I have an idea!”_ Adora cried out, threw the Sword above her body and drove it into the ground with reckless abandon. Brilliant golden light burst from beneath the blade as Adora channeled Her magic into the soil, the wood of the Heart Blossom in her mind’s eye. If Adora was just precise- and lucky- enough with her aim, then the Runestone in the tree’s center would go unharmed. 

_If._

As she sits here stewing in the skiff now, the hairsplitting winds just barely missing her fingernails, the sound of the Heartblossom tree splitting, cracking, _falling,_ ringing in her head keeps her on the edge of her seat. The feeling that’s diffused from her stomach and is currently boiling the rest of her internal organs only makes the recent memory and her heart palpitations that much more anxiety inducing. 

Okay. Adora hadn’t _meant_ to damage the tree to such an extreme extent, only to electrify it the same way a strike of lightning would do in a storm to stun the corrupt magic- but they got lucky. And as it turns out, the only energy more powerful at splitting an ancient tree like that than actual lightning was Her own. When the magic dissipated back into the atmosphere and the trunk split and the two halves crashed to the ground, the effect on the roots had been immediate as they shriveled up and died an extremely satisfying death. Netossa and Spinerella made it safely back to the ground thanks to their powers. Perfuma put down her shields and helped her advisor up. And as for the Runestone, it stood strong despite the intense magical voltage it had channeled, resting at the base of the tree and the roots that survived, reflecting back the afternoon sun as it buzzed with the last remaining magic from the Surge.

 _“The Heart Blossom,”_ Perfuma had practically wailed after the realization that everyone was alive sunk in deep enough to be believable, her hands coming to her mouth.

_"I’m sorry, Perfuma, I really am but I-”_

_“Took a calculated risk,”_ Netossa finished for her, her hand reaching up and clasping She Ra’s shoulder. _  
_

_“Sometimes,”_ Wrapping her arm around her abdomen, Netossa took a raggedy breath, _“you got to take a few to reach those who need you most.”_

The Princess reached out for her wife’s hand. The last branch, still hanging on by a thread to the tree’s base, broke with a pitiful twist and landed on the ground in a cloud of dirt.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Adora drops her head into her hands instead of trying to field Netossa’s inquiry about why she looks like such a spacey mess. The other woman is still looking to her to finish her trail off. But it’s much simpler just to let the other Princess believe it’s the incident with the Heart Blossom’s tree that has Adora twisted in this mental knot and that she’s playing it humble for the rest of their ride through the Whispering Woods. Well it’s _not_ not the reason but- it’s a lot of reasons, and Adora can’t find the right words to explain them with the one person who _would_ understand having yet to break her daylong radio silence. 

_I don’t know if I can make another “calculated risk” like that in the Fright Zone- well- old Fright Zone. Even if it_ is _to reach the people I love. I haven’t acted_ that _impulsive since the war. What was I thinking, gambling everyone’s lives like that? Just because I can’t think straight enough to make a rational decision?!_

“Look, I get it,” Netossa says and Adora’s grateful her hands cover her smirk, “You thought we were done with the Surges. We all did. But they never last any longer than sundown, so this will probably be the last Runestone. After that we can go home and get some rest. You… look like you could use it.”

Adora just makes a noise through her palms. Her fingertips ghost the edge of her golden crown, the crown shaped by unconscious forces (or the universe’s most _powerful_ magic) to fit the same shape as her wife’s old mask. Deep in her gut, the nasty feeling strikes like a snake going for the kill. 

Squirming against the emotion, Adora throws Netossa a bone, “Are you always this tired after you’ve turned thirty?”

“When you’ve got a pregnant wife and a kid on the way, maybe,” laughs Netossa.

Adora’s response is a dramatic and overstated wince. _Please,_ please _don’t mention Catra and the baby when I’m already positive I’m losing my mind!_

She _is_ tired. Exhausted even, in a way she hasn’t been since she took in the full magic of the Heart and got the entire planet into this mess. Adora has held She Ra’s form throughout this entire _never-ending_ siege; she has no intention to let Her go until the magic flees deep back into Etheria’s core. She has yelled “For the Honor of Grayskull!” a grand total of one time- this morning. Right as she ran across Bright Moon’s borders. Besides her close call when the roots pelted her into the ground, she hasn’t had to yell her activating phrase again. She Ra’s pure energy is the crutch Adora leans on to keep her own physical and mental exhaustion from draining her resolve (not when her own paranoia could do that job just as well). The last thing Adora’s looking forward to is falling back to her original form after this is all over with just to be reminded of her human limitations. 

The skiff comes to a stop before Adora can say as much.

“We’re here!” Spinerella calls out over the wind. With an elegant ascend, Spinerella hops out of the skiff and lands on the grass beneath them.

“ _This_ is where we’re meeting Entrapta?” Netossa, a skeptic look on her face, glances around after she jumps in suit, “This is like the _edge_ of the Woods, babe. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?”

“Yes, I’m _positive,_ Netossa. I doubled checked and everything, believe it or not.”

 _Great,_ Adora’s boots hit the ground, _now we’re getting on each other’s nerves. This has officially been Etheria’s worst Surge ever._

“Are you absolutely sure, Spinny? You know you’re terrible with directions!”

“Guys,” Adora, throwing her hands in front of her face, stops them before this tiff can become a full blown argument. Emphasis on blown- as she stands there angling her boots deeper into the grass. “We’re all tired, we’re all trying not to get blown away, but we still need to trust each other and work together.” 

_So I can get back to my very pregnant wife who has not said a word to me all day!_ It takes every bit of Adora’s composure to keep her fist from meeting a nearby tree.

Instead she continues through gritted teeth, “Now, I’m sure Spinerella got the coordinates right, this is the safest place in the Woods right now because we’re running on a parallel path to the Surge instead of just being sitting ducks _in_ the Surge’s path. If it’s wrong then, well, Entrapta can still track us to the right location with our pins.”

Netossa and Spinerella exchange a heated look before nodding reluctantly. 

“Spinerella,” Hoping her childish hope isn’t leaking into her voice, Adora gestures to the mini Tracker Pad Spinerella holds, “Did you hear anything from the Command Center while we were driving? Like a message or a video transmission-”

“No Adora, I still haven’t got anything from the C.C. I’m sorry.”

“Son of a _bitch,_ ” Adora deflates, back colliding with the nearest trunk. 

“They’re probably just busy. This is the worst Surge we’ve had in a long time, so Catra’s probably overwhelmed with things that need her attention right now.” Spinerella says, but her attempts at comfort are lost on Adora. 

Because Adora _knows_ Catra. Adora knows Catra would be the _last_ person in the universe to leave her stranded without a word in the middle of this kind of mess unless it was a _life or death_ emergency. (Or, Adora has messed up in a way that only a eighteen year old version of herself can mess up.) Adora knows that Catra has spent the last twelve Surges taking whatever quiet moment in the chaos was afforded to them to slip a Comm in her hand and promising to be the voice in her head before running back to her station, as long as Adora promised to be hers. Adora knows that even when they stood on opposite sides in the war, Catra would talk to her, tease her, _bait_ her, chat her up in the name of espionage and playing dirty. Because it was second nature to Catra to make conversation with the out of reach, love of her life- it didn’t matter that the cost of that close conversation meant it was that much easier to tear each other’s throats out. 

Catra’s never been capable of turning her nose up at a chance to get in Adora’s head. The risk of fumbling orders to her battalions or missing a key detail in a map just to get a dig in at her wife is a risk Adora _knows_ Catra will take. Because she took that _exact_ risk when they were eighteen and enemies, when they were twenty one and then they were something else, when they were twenty eight and these Surges became standard, run of the mill procedure. 

But there’s been _nothing_ . Not a single word from her wife. This is how Adora _knows_ something is wrong and that the universe will not right itself until she hears from Catra. She’s willing to bet her entire life on it.

_I thought that even without a Comm she’d still try to get through to me. But it’s been nothing but this silence all freaking day!_

Adora stops those thoughts there with a sharp inhale through her nose. Her knuckles tighten around the grip of her Sword. No, she doesn’t have time to entertain doubts or worries or realities about something unspeakable happening to the Command Center or to Catra. Or their baby. She just has to get _home_ in one piece to them, and trust that Catra will do the same.

“Hello all!” a voice traveling over the wind prompts Adora to open her eyes. A skiff, personalized in a metallic purple, bursts through a gathering of trees, Entrapta at the helm shouting through the cracks in her Bug Eyed Visor. 

_That’s a smart_ _choice,_ Adora thinks. If any gear can withstand Surge weather it’s gear that was designed to weather Beast Island. 

Entrapta throws up the skiff’s brake before throwing up her visor, Emily chirping in the seat behind her. “You’re all alive! I was _sure_ from my readings and calculations that those sentient roots would tear you all apart- limb from limb!” The Dryl Princess throws her hands up and Adora can’t help but roll her eyes at the gesture. Would the world _for one minute_ stop reminding her about Plumeria?

“...They _almost_ did.” Spinerella replies caustically.

“But we got out, thanks to the mighty She Ra and her tree destroying blasts of power.” Netossa chimes in, because _apparently_ letting it go isn’t an option any of Adora’s squad believes is worth exploring. 

“Wow,” Entrapta’s eyes sparkle in a dangerous way, her voice hiking upwards, that has Adora reeling back a few steps. As the engineer climbs out of the skiff, struggling to walk forward against the wind, she asks with a little too much gusto considering the situation at hand, “Walk me through how you did it, Adora! She Ra’s magic was not intended to _destroy_ things, but to heal them. What possible emotions could you have been feeling to fuel a blast strong enough to decimate a _Runestone’s_ holding?”

Grunting in frustration, Adora throws her hands up, “Later, Entrapta! We’ll talk about it later!”

“I’ll hold you to it! Hmm, okay, yes. I thought before you all had survived Plumeria, but we seem to be missing one, right Emily?” 

Whirring in agreement, the robot collapses underneath herself as the wind picks up around their group. Adora’s empty hand goes up to hold her ponytail just to keep it from repeatedly slapping her in the face.

“My orders were to meet up with _four_ people at the edge of the Whispering Woods, but I’m only counting three of you.” finishes Entrapta.

Netossa and Spinerella share a look Adora has learned through experience that means _“Did you_ _let someone get blown off the skiff?”_

“Wait,” says Spinerella, “who are we missing?”

A roaring from the east answers her question. The sound doesn’t come from the wind; no, it’s sound mechanical in nature, and it rings strange in Adora’s ear compared to the continuous furor that she’s almost gotten used to. As the roaring becomes louder and more ferocious, coming closer and closer, the four princesses turn in tandem to be ready for it. Whether it’s good news- or just more of the disappointing same.

Dirt and grass fly up in a spiral, the roaring of what Adora’s positive is now an engine of Entrapta’s design, comes to a halt. The debris is caught up in the onslaught of wind only to land in each of their dropped jaws and straight into their waiting windpipes.

“Ugh, sorry!” Adora would recognize that greeting even if she wasn’t currently choking on a leaf, “I’m still- I’m still trying to get the hang of riding this uh, this HoverBike prototype!”

“Glad you could make it, Scorpia” Netossa manages to cough out a greeting. Swallowing the rest of the coarse material on her tongue, Adora glances up to find the newest edition to their squad hobbling off a Horde grade motorcycle turned death trap by the same augmentation of First Ones tech that allowed the bike, stripped of its rubber wheels, to float near the ground.

“You're our fifth?” asks Adora, racking her addled, off-her-game brain for whatever order went out for Scorpia to meet her squad at the edge of the woods and missed her all the same. There wasn’t any mention of the Scorpion Princess in the last message Spinerella received from the C.C. Adora’s Correspondence Pin hasn’t lit up since this morning ( _morning, that was morning? Stars, it feels like last year)_ and from a tactical view point it made little to no sense why the Princess had been sent out to meet _them_ instead of the other way around.

 _Why move Scorpia_ away _from the Black Garnet? She needs to be there to communicate with her Runestone, now we’re going to be wasting both time and energy trying to get her back into the Fright Zone in one piece._

Adora shifts her weight to her right leg. Guess her better half is no more on her game today than Adora is.

 _Yeah._ She _has an excuse. You, on the other hand-_

Removing her goggles, Scorpia starts “I got here as fast as I could. Getting out of the storm is _no_ joke! I thought it was weird that I was being sent to you guys, but I also didn’t wanna argue with the King of Bright Moon-”

“Wait,” Adora puts her hand up, “ _Bow_ sent you?”

“Weird, right? Usually it’s Catra in my ear screaming “Hurry up and get your ass over there, Scorpia!” And then she’ll usually apologize for saying “ass” and yelling at me, and it’s like- hey, no biggie. We’re in a high pressure situation here. But no, today it was Bow I got the call from. I mean, I didn’t get a Comm but I also haven’t been to the Command Center all day.” 

“Okay, that explains this strategic _nightmare_.” Adora mumbles under her breath, turning her back on the rest of the group to decipher this mess.

 _Why is_ Bow _giving the Princesses orders? That is definitely not his job, it’s_ Catra’s, _what in Eternia’s name is even going on anymore?_

Has Adora stepped into another dimension where Catra is a less than chatty general letting Bow and his sloppy procedure take over her Command Center? Or maybe this Surge has just set off another false reality- alternate universes were more than in Etheria’s wheelhouse!- and they’re all blissfully blind to the fact they’re being sucked into some ravenous black hole because these fictitious natural disasters sure make for some engaging distractions. Maybe _that’s_ what this feeling that’s fried her intestines and is burning through her lung tissue won’t leave her alone. Maybe that’s why every time Adora blinks the image that forms back in front of her eyes is _never quite right._

She grunts in frustration.

“According to the last updated map I received, the Black Garnet is going to be the next affected Runestone, so we’re going to need a plan on how to get to it.” Behind Adora, Spinerella takes the initiative. Netossa is quick to point out the flaw in Bow’s master plan.

“And we’re going to need to get _you_ back into the village,” she says and Scorpia makes a solemn noise of agreement before diving right into _another_ problem.

“Guys, the Black Garnet is already affected. By the time I got Bow’s orders, she was on the fritz and no matter what I did for her, she would not calm down and then, she stopped listening to me altogether! While I was getting ready to leave for the Woods, a huge thing of lightning hit the tower of the building right next to us.” Scorpia expands, “It’s gotta be Lightning City in Asylum's Seeker village by now!” 

“So, we’re going to need to get you back into the village _without_ getting electrocuted.” 

Spinerella draws in a breath. Out of the corner of her eye, Adora can see her reaching out for Netossa’s hand, “I’m starting to miss the giant, evil roots.”

“Oh no,” a quiver in Entrapta’s voice has Adora turning around- all of them turning around- to see her eyes scanning her tablet, hair running separate calculations behind her on her skiff’s attached computer, “If what I’ve hypothesized is correct, then the Asylum Seeker’s Village is much more trouble than we once believed.”

“What are you getting at?” asks Netossa. Adora’s grip on her Sword tightens.

“Despite the lack of Runestone or magical power in the Crimson Waste, there’s been a thunderstorm brewing in its center for the last 3.67 hours and it’s been moving east at a rate of 62 kilometers per hour toward the old Fright Zone.” Entrapta explains; gone is her excited fervor at the level of scientific phenomenon, replaced with unsettling nerves. “Simultaneously the winds in the Whispering Woods have also been moving east-”

“Towards the Fright Zone.” Spinerella finishes. When Adora looks up, Scorpia is there to meet her eyes.

“Yes,” Entrapta, wringing her hands, responds, “by the time the Surge takes full control of the Black Garnet- and we’re at a corruption rate of 74% and climbing alarmingly fast- the thunderstorm from the Crimson Waste _and_ the typhoon coming from the Woods will collide in over the the Black Garnet.”

Adora lets out a controlled breath that almost becomes a laugh of sarcasm, “Lightning, thunder, rain, and wind. Great!”

“It’s literally a perfect storm,” Netossa chuckles.

“Well what about the village?” asks Scorpia, “There’s no way the old Fright Zone structures can withstand all of that at once! I promised anyone coming to Etheria that I’d give them a home, _not_ a pile of rubble.”

“We’ll need to call in backup from the Command Center. Catra called the battalions back after Adora destroyed the Heart Blossom-”

Scorpia’s fury is on Adora immediately and without mercy, “You did _what?_ ”

“It’s not important _right now,_ Scorpia!”

“- but it will take them two hours two get here on foot-”

“If the wind doesn’t blow them away,” mumbles Netossa.

“-or on skiffs. Catra kept the remaining squadrons within a forty five minute radius of us. They’re our best chance at keeping the structures somewhat intact while She Ra gets Scorpia back to the Black Garnet.”

There’s a stretch of silence as Entrapta’s words take their sweet time sinking in. Before the news of the superstorm (Adora has to give it to the Surge; the magic is switching disasters up this time around. The roots were new- and now, so is this.) there was only another Runestone left to calm and civilians left to secure. Now there’s a ticking clock that the fate of an entire populations’ livelihood depends on five people somehow beating. Well, five people that happen to Princesses and whatever scraps of battalions Catra/Bow can muster up. Adora’s hand comes to her Correspondence Pin, a silly yet unshakable belief that it will light up with a message, order, map- _anything_ from Catra. 

They are down to the skin of their teeth. And Adora’s Pin stays dark. 

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Adora, resolve settling in and compounding her exhaustion, shouts over the wind. Somehow it’s become stronger- louder, angrier and the color of rust- as they waste time standing here, “Scorpia, you’re going to go with Entrapta. Entrapta’s got the tech to determine the worst areas of the storm and the best possible path back to the Black Garnet’s chamber. You drive, and she’ll watch the map.”

“Roger that,” Scorpia nods. She and Entrapta exchange a look of excitement, the scientist clapping her gloved hands.

“Netossa, you take Scorpia’s HoverBike and follow them. I want you to _make sure_ they both get to the chamber and radio me when you get there. Your nets should make a good enough shield with enough visibility to allow you passage through the wind and rain. I’ll stay with Spinerella. The two of us will work with the closest battalions to reinforce whatever structures we can- prioritize speed over efficiency. Whenever the rest of Catra’s battalions get through the Woods and meet us, I’ll head to the Black Garnet to help Scorpia with the last part.”

All eyes are on Adora as she swings the Sword of Protection, creating an X of light in the air with her movements as the molecules above her skin illuminate her entire body in gold.

“Surges never last past sundown, so this should be the _last_ Runestone. I know that you’re tired and sick of this, but I need you to give me everything you’ve got for this final round. Watch each other’s backs, and ask for help if and when you need it. And- and be prepared to improvise, because this plan _is_ going to fall apart. At some point. Do that and…” a stinging lump forms in Adora’s throat, “And we can go home.”

The Princesses nod in agreement. This silent, transient flicker of understanding between them speaks louder than any verbal agreement could.

“I’ll need to send a transmission to the Command Center _immediately_ if we’re going to get going!” declares Entrapta, breaking the silence into a thousand pieces that are carried off by the wind, and she scurries off, hair holding her up on the way back to her skiff.

Spinerella and Netossa take each other’s hands as they move toward their own skiff and Scorpia’s HoverBike. The simple, habitual action between them sends an iron stake straight through her heart, but Adora lets her heavy feet drag her on the same path regardless.

“Ah boy,” Scorpia says out loud to no one in particular, “I cannot _wait_ for this Surge to be over. I haven’t seen my Wild Flower all day, plus I told Wrong Hordak we’d be back in time for bath and bed. Ren doesn’t exactly sleep well if I don’t sing a lullaby to her first.”

“What I can’t believe is that you and Perfuma let _Wrong Hordak_ babysit Ren, and on a regular basis, too!” scoffs Netossa.

“He has the cheapest rate! Not many people are into watching the two-kingdom Princess who isn't already fighting, and you may not believe this, but Wrong Hordak can sing _almost_ as well as I do.”

“In a weird way,” Spinerella’s voice is titillating as she responds, “I _can_ actually believe that.”

Adora ignores this conversation. The hurt in her heart can’t bear to listen to it, to pay attention to it, to add something of value to it. She and Scorpia are practically in the same boat, except Adora’s boat is sinking under the weight of a slightly altered reality. There aren't the holes in Scorpia’s boat that are taking Adora’s down; Perfuma isn’t thirty eight weeks pregnant, their baby not even a part of the world yet but in the most vulnerable position anyone could be in during a planetary siege of natural disasters. As Adora stands here against the oncoming wave of wind, she can sense something beyond that terrible, acidic feeling that’s just another hole in her boat, there’s a force- a gravity- pulling her back west. Back toward the Command Center. Back toward Catra and their daughter. 

_What if something went wrong with the baby?_ For a second, Adora indulges the thoughts she wouldn’t let form even minutes ago. But as she lets the dam break, the situations she’s shut out take her hostage, and she’s unable to tear herself from them as her boat- her reality- sinks faster, and faster, and faster. _Eclampsia, an amniotic fluid embolism, prelabor rupture- ugh, I knew it was a bad idea to leave Catra when it was so close to her due date. She kept saying she was fine but I_ know _she didn’t sleep last night and that she probably just lied to make me feel better about leaving her- which it didn’t!_

If Catra’s anything, it’s strong enough, bull headed and stubborn enough, to withstand whatever today brings. Has brought. Catra is the _strong fucking person_ Adora has ever known and probably will ever know. Even when Catra’s life fell apart and she stumbled drunk on her own pain down the wrong paths that led her to even worse decisions, Catra was never not strong. Stronger than Adora, strong enough to take Shadow Weaver’s relentless bullshit, strong enough to carry both of them to the Heart, strong enough to weather whatever their relationship put them through. Whatever Adora put her through. And now her strength is what is allowing them to have a family; Catra’s been strong in a way that was never an act from day one of her pregnancy. She can be strong for just a few days more, Adora knows that with every fiber of her being.

 _But I_ promised _her I would be there if something went wrong. And something went wrong, didn’t it?_

“Hey, Adora!” Netossa calls out and Adora hears the starting roar of the engine of Scorpia’s HoverBike, “Aren’t you coming? Spinny and I were thinking we’d race- I mean, try and get a head start while Entrapta and Scorpia stay back for her transmission back to the C.C!”

Adora doesn’t answer right away; no, her solemn pre-battle prayer of gazing across the horizon has brought her a new thought that’s more piercing than the rest of, _Wait, what is that?_

“One sec!” She yells back. But Adora doesn’t move. Not when what she’s seen is actually a blur at the edge of her field of vision, coming closer. A red blur. A red and blue, _familiar_ blur bounding rights towards them, and right towards her. A peculiar omen in both the best and worst way.

Spinerella sees the blur, now coming into greater focus, too. “Is that-

“Melog?” 

It is spitting in the face of her earlier determination not to abandon She Ra’s magic and return to her human form before the Surge had seen it’s end, but Adora lets Her go without a second thought- without a _first_ thought- to fall to her knees when Melog slides to a stop in front of her. The exhaustion she’s been keeping at bay, the spiraling fear and panic and worry she’s kept just out of reach overwhelm Adora the second she’s back in her body. Adora ignores each and every resulting sensation like it’s just another beat of her heart.

Melog’s mane is a bright, blaring orange, floating up and down around their ears against the wind, and it's the first visual Adora registers. Adora may not be empathically linked to the alien the same way Catra was, but over the last ten years she’s learned to read Melog’s different signs. 

_Orange,_ Adora breathes out and Melog wraps themselves around her leg, purr crescendoing until she can’t ignore it, _orange means warning. Orange means something’s wrong._

This. This is the sign Adora’s been waiting for from Catra. And this is a _bad_ sign.

Just like that, the universe _snaps_ back into place, the tiniest vibrations of her molecules reverberating through Adora’s body as she registers the obvious change.

“Is Melog really just, alone?” Scorpia asks in speculation while Adora stumbles, trying to adjust to a righted reality, “No other skiffs or soldiers? Or Catra?”

“Well I _highly_ doubt Catra left the Command Center and walked all the way here on foot. She wouldn’t do that even if she wasn’t about to go into labor any day now.” reasons Netossa, Melog letting out a hiss like noise at her comment.

Adora’s eyes widen, “It’s Catra, isn’t it?” 

Melog meows hurriedly. 

“And the baby? And-” 

Melog's response to this is to grab Adora by her sleeve before she can finish her sentence between their teeth and pull her back in the direction of the Command Center. A simple gesture that serves to fill in the rest of the missing pieces. 

Letting out a dead laugh not even the wind can deafen, Adora slides her boots into the ground, stopping both her and Melog as she solves the puzzle out loud. “Okay, of _all_ the times I needed to trust my gut, this has got to be the most _on-the-nose_ one, for Eternia’s Sake!”

“Um, what are you saying, Adora?” Netossa, followed by Spinerella, has abandoned the HoverBike to join her.

“She’s in labor! Catra’s _in_ labor- it must’ve started at some point during the Surge. That’s why we- _I-_ haven’t heard anything from her all day. I can’t believe I couldn’t put that together.” Throwing her hands up, Adora surrenders herself to her anxiety, and every thought that’s plagued her about being a horrible mom and an even worse partner to the people that needed her the most. There’s always been a kernel of truth to her anxieties and insecurities no matter what Guide Laurel said. Because she’s standing here and not standing by the people she loves most in the world. 

_The_ feeling, the warning deep in her stomach she’s been ignoring for hours upon hours, it has always meant something and Adora has always known what it meant. She just could never bring herself to the precipice of this choice- She Ra or her family.

Entrapta's next comment does nothing to ice the sting.

“I could’ve told you that.”

“What?” Adora whirls around, pivoting on the sole of her boot.

“Yeah,” the Princess nods, “I was at the Command Center this morning, remember? Catra came in reporting for duty, but she exhibited obvious signs of early labor. I believe she had quite a sustained contraction right after briefing the soldiers.”

Every single word is a kick to Adora’s chest and any attempt to make sense of Entrapta’s recollection only fuels the fire of her spiral further. What? Catra’s was having _contractions_ this morning? Contractions that were _apparent_ enough just right after Adora left the cottage? And Adora ran out into the Surge, Sword ablaze, yelling “For the Honor of Grayskull,” despite that kind of evidence? 

“Uh Entrapta, if you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” Scorpia asks. She’s the third person to encircle the area Adora paces.

“I thought you all did! I assumed that’s why Adora’s been acting in such a dissociative state since I arrived in the Woods!”

“What have I done?” Adora presses her hands to her temple, “I- I _left_ her and I left our daughter and I just walked out on them even though Catra was far enough her labor to be having contractions _this_ morning. She didn’t sleep last night. Has it been going on _that_ long?”

“Well, I presume so-”

“Entrapta!” The other Princesses are quick to shut her up. 

Swallowing, Adora reaches her hand out. Melog is right there to steady her. “It’s Catra, for Etheria’s sake. She’s like the only person I really, _really_ know. She and I… How could I have missed something like that?” 

Adora has been voluntarily blind too many times to count in the last thirty years but not seeing _this-_ she’d never failed to grasp the picture quite like this blunder. This outright _failure._ What kind of wife, mother, person could Adora even call herself now that she’d seen to it that Catra is going through the longest phase of her labor _alone_ , without any of the resources they’d laid out for this day, in the worst possible pain and probably terrified out of her mind?

 _Probably pretending not to be. Once again, my failure to the person she needs- my selfish need to be a_ hero _\- is the reason she has to be strong…_

A soft thump against her palm and a resounding meow remind Adora of the truth: the hows and whys of Adora missing the signs _don’t matter._ (Well, maybe it’s possible they will in the certain, unforeseeable future). All that matters is that Adora _gets back_ to Catra and is there for the actual birth of their daughter.

Better to be her partner for some of it than for none of it. 

“I have to go back.” Adora’s heels hit the grass as her pacing stops. “I have to get back to Catra. I messed up but I’m not- I’m _not_ missing this. I won’t let her go through anymore of this alone.” 

“Go!” Spinerella nods emphatically, murmurs of similar sentiments from their cohorts echoing beyond this command. 

And Adora intends to. It’s all she wants to. She intends to turn around, to hop on Melog’s back and head straight for wherever Catra may be, whether it's the Nest or Etheria forbid, the Command Center because some sense tells Adora Catra’s stubbornness will have stopped her from going home. Only something, some brief panic, in the faces of her squad- the _other_ group of people counting on her- paralyzes her where she stands. A strike of pure magic pulses through her body, and reminds her of _why_ Adora is not at Catra’s side to begin with.

_So being She Ra and being a mom are mutually exclusive after all. Guess I was right about some things in the end._

The storm over the Black Garnet. The buildings threatening to topple under the elements and destroy safe havens, communities, _homes_. The oath to selflessly protect Etheria no matter the circumstance or personal conflict when she took up She Ra’s mantle. Adora can feel the pressure of every idealistic promise she’s made squeezing her chest and crushing her ribs- just like the sadistic, sentient roots back in Plumeria. 

_I just said I couldn’t make another calculated risk like this._

“What about the Black Garnet? The Fright Zone? I can’t just leave you guys either to face that by yourselves-'' But as soon as Adora starts, Scorpia's pincers are on her shoulders to stop her and break those invisible, mental binds that suffocate the air from her lungs.

“Adora, you have had our backs all day.” Netossa stares her directly in the eyes as Scorpia pushes Adora back into Melog, “You _and_ Catra have had our backs. We’ll figure it out, I mean, we _always_ do. It’s a Princess Alliance, not just one Princess.”

“You did say the plan was going to fall apart anyway.” adds Spinerella.

“Adora, you need to get your ass back to Catra and Ren’s future cousin,” Scorpia almost tosses her onto Melog. “If I didn’t have Perfuma when I gave birth, wooh- I don’t even want to _think_ about how hard that would’ve been. The rest of us have got it covered, a-okay! We’ll see you all when the Surge is finished and done.” 

Looking up at each of her friends, Adora lets out a deep, shaky breath that expels any remaining guilt from her body. She scans their faces for a split second and is met with nothing but confidence and sincerity. 

_There’s your permission, Princess._ The same voice that whispered in her ear and saved her from the root whispers to her now, and Adora starts taking a few steps back, hand reaching out for Melog. Walking away from this fight is the easiest choice Adora’s ever made.

“Holy Eternia,” she laughs as a new emotion, a better emotion filled with promise and hope and actual vitality, washes over her like a wave. It’s the excitement that has waited patiently inside her for this day, for this moment, and now she’s bursting. “This- this is really happening! I’m going to be a mom! I never thought that I’d-”

“Go Adora!” All of her friends, including Entrapta, yell back at her.

“Oh, yeah, right.” 

Adora doesn’t waste anymore time by wishing her friends luck or sparing a goodbye. No; she’s quick to move, to throw herself over Melog’s back and brace herself against the wind because there’s not a single second left to waste. Catra needs her. Their daughter needs her. And more than anything, anything in the entire freaking known universe, Adora needs _them._

It’s time to make good on some promises. 

“Alright Melog,” Adora whispers, pure unadulterated excitement leaking into her voice, running her hand under their mane “Let’s go see our girls.”

_

**_The Outskirts of Bright Moon; 49 Minutes and 36 Seconds Since the End of the War_ **

Adora had been ready to die. 

Adora _almost_ died; death almost swallowed her whole and dragged her limp into an endless pit of darkness, the only sounds that would follow her into purgatory Horde Prime’s mocking laughter, and she was ready to let it take her and consume her- because she had failed.

And then Catra called out her name ( _“Don’t you get it?!”)_ and saved her ( _“I love you! I always have!”)_ , tore her out of the darkness and freed her _(“So please, just this_ once- _stay!”)_ from the tragic hero’s fate Adora had walked in blind acceptance toward from the moment Shadow Weaver stood her in front of the Horde’s vast windows, and proclaimed Etheria’s savior. 

_Shadow Weaver,_ the thought hit Adora now as if it threatened to take her back to that darkest place, that last stop before a death she couldn’t come back from. Yet she flowed through the blunt emotion as if it was fleeting, squeezing the hand that held hers and kept putting one foot in front of the other. 

Nothing seemed quite real, or permanent. Not even the first marks of grief.

Those moments that followed after Adora expunged the last cancerous claim of Horde Prime from Hordak’s mind, freeing the universe once and for all from his sick and twisted grip, held her the same way dreams did in the early dawn. That is to say, they didn’t feel real and they seemed too far away to be so. She’d stood looking out over Etheria’s new horizon to see the magic- the _life_ \- that bloomed now in every crack and crevice and saw a brand new dawn after the longest, darkest night. For a second, Adora reached out into that dawn and touched, if for however briefly, a kind of happiness she once believed she’d never live to see.

Wasn’t it enough to get drunk off of, to have evaded the narrow noose of death and open her eyes to the aftermath? The same aftermath Adora never in her wildest dreams allowed herself to picture. Because every time she tried to form such a mental picture, there was always a piece missing. An incomplete photograph, hers to take, that only ever made her ache.

As she stood out overlooking what was so vast and beautiful in a way she never could have dreamt it up, that same missing piece called out her name. _(“Adora?”)._ Adora brought Catra to her and completed the picture. Bow and Glimmer tackled the two of them and gave the picture vibrancy, wholeness upon wholeness. Frame and foundation. In that haze of joy, of certainty, of victory, Adora suggested with an untouched boldness that the four of them bring what they’d brought back here- magic, _hope_ \- to the rest of the universe. They’d conquered death thus far and courted danger until it was a familiar challenger; neither scared Adora in the presence of her friends.

Best laid plans to see to later, Adora came to find. Etheria was in desperate need of leadership, the natural matriarchs dispelled from their rightful place and lands at Prime’s hands. The Princess Alliance couldn’t just take off when the planet needed their powers and presence to help repair all the damage done and She Ra wasn’t looking to abandon her people, her home, so soon after returning. But the repairs, the leadership, the future was to wait as well. Etheria was free; free from Hordak’s parasitic hold and Prime’s priesthood of total annihilation, and so it wasn’t time to make plans, but to take the much needed time to celebrate. To breath.

Adora lagged behind the others as they began the trek back to Bright Moon. Trapped in hazy disbelief and the fatigue of yet _another_ near death experience. Her closest to date. It should be, some deep part of her recognized, _her turn_ to breath. Only a voice of smoke and shadow caressed her ear and whispered, _“Not yet,”_ and so she couldn’t let go in the way Bow and Glimmer did, throwing back party ideas, Catra butting in with a dry comment from time to time. 

_(“So please, just this_ once _stay!”)_ Catra said that- _screamed_ that- right after she screamed that she loved Adora. _Love._ Loved her in the way that formed the root of all Adora’s want. Adora woke up in her arms, Catra’s face buried in her chest, and thought for a second her nightmare had become some far fetched, untouchable dream. Just another of her most selfish wishes broadcasted by the First Ones memory chamber for the one intention of _torturing_ her.

_But it was real. This is real. Right?_

Her eyes trailed Catra’s back as they walked, their hands intertwined despite the awkward position, Adora squeezing her hands whenever the disbelief would cycle through her again. _(“You love me?”)_ Catra squeezed back every time, sometimes throwing Adora her own expression of incredulity. 

_I got you,_ Adora channeled Catra's words into her touch as she wanted to keep them as close as she wanted the girl herself, _I’m not letting go._

Catra kissed (kissed!) her back there under the heat of the Heart and so Adora reasoned that what transpired around her might still be a dream. Always one wrong step from morphing back into that nightmare. Adora was happy to walk at the back of the group- in the name of safety, of course- and to let herself daydream like she used to when she was a junior cadet about when she and Catra could be alone again and get a chance to talk about _their_ future and _their_ plans. However small they might be at first was a condition Adora was ready to take, but if the state of the crowd around her is anything to go by Adora doubted that conversation was one they’d get to have soon. Maybe it’s for that reason Adora let the sense memory of Catra’s hand caressing her cheek, of Catra pulling her closer, of Catra’s lips on hers play over and over again. 

Where there once would be guilt for indulging such a memory, love occupied the space and pushed any claim guilt might have out. She’d almost given her life for the planet and therefore she _earned_ the right to revel fair and square. Adora wondered, running her thumb down a grain of fur, if Catra was replaying that same memory, too. 

“By the way,” Glimmer began offhandedly, her tone laced with an unease she hadn’t held before, “you guys never told us what… what happened to Shadow Weaver.”

Adora dropped Catra’s hand.

“She went in with you, Catra, and she didn’t come back out.”

“You can’t put the pieces together on your own?” Catra’s voice was low when she answered, but Adora barely heard it for another reason altogether. Her dream was morphing, painstakingly and without forgiveness, back into that nightmare.

Bow’s voice was far away, “We just assumed…”

 _Shadow Weaver’s gone,_ the words of Adora’s would-be response were an ambush, a direct admission of events she was flat out pretending hadn’t happened. There was always a component of battle soldiers were instructed to ignore until victory was secured: their weak willed emotions of whatever they’d seen or done. Shock could always wait until the battle was won. Sadness, loss, grief were better saved to be felt never. 

_That Elmental that almost killed Catra...Shadow Weaver sacrificed herself… we just walked away._

Her thoughts were broken pieces, an incoherent stream of sadness and confusion and conflict that possessed its own gravity as it all came down around her. Not once since stepping out onto the surface had Adora given a second thought to the last bit of light blinding her eyes as Shadow Weaver gave her life for theirs; Catra acted with an urgency that didn’t give them time to dwell or dawdle, carrying her to the Heart and standing her ground when Adora tried to make a call tougher than she’d ever imagined. _Let me go and don’t look back. Save yourself so that I know that the next thing I do is_ worth _it._

(Perhaps the universe’s cruelest act of indifference was to let Adora have Catra back only to make sure she’d need to leave again. Perhaps it was the universe’s best act of indifference.)

Any lingering thoughts about Shadow Weaver’s death were chased away as Adora stood down her own. Only now… only instead, Adora had _lived._ Adora stared death in its piercing eyes of green and managed to come back unscathed. Adora had lived in spite of her belief that her the ultimatum of her destiny was that she was supposed to die to make things right.

 _“Make no mistake, Adora,”_ Shadow Weaver had said to her on the night Adora discovered where life really came from, _“Sacrifices are never without reward. I did what I had to do for the greater good. Your turn will come eventually.”_

But Adora’s turn _had_ come, Adora’s turn to give her life the way Shadow Weaver spent twenty one years directly and indirectly preparing her to do had come and yet Adora stood here, her heart beat steady against her eardrum, every muscle dizzy with static and heaviness. Adora had lived- she never had to sacrifice herself to be of any worth to the needing, wanting universe because Shadow Weaver had died. Because Shadow Weaver had seen to it that _both_ their lives were saved and in insuring Catra delivered Adora to the Heart their once master always so steadfastly against their true feelings and _want_ for each other set in motion the exact opportunity for Catra’s love to save Adora’s story from ending in just another tragic hero’s death.

Shadow Weaver made the sacrifice Adora was always destined for. 

_She gets to be the savior she always wanted._ The bitterness to this thought leaked beyond her conscious, enveloping Adora until it was suffocating out any indication of the real world. And in the light of this revelation, Adora was left to wonder with nothing real around her: did Shadow Weaver give up her ghost because it was an act of altruism _(“It’s too late for me”),_ or because she lusted after the same glory and infamy and stature of legend she wished upon Adora and saw just another chance to secure it? 

_(I knew that for you to truly achieve all the power I sensed in you, I had to be the one to guide you to such greatness.”)_

At one point in time, closer to when Adora defected and was a fawn struggling to learn how to walk in the real world on unsteady legs, she would’ve said that Shadow Weaver was the closest person she’d had to a mother. To someone like Queen Angella. But Shadow Weaver was a _mockery_ of motherhood compared to Glimmer’s mom. What kind of mother sowed the seeds of distrust and passiveness and _self-hatred_ in their own child the way Shadow Weaver did to her? Of all the lessons Adora’s caretaker passed on to her- how to tie her boots, how to strike a killing blow to the enemy, how to deal with her menstrual cycle when it started during battle- the one that stood out the most was that mothers _do not_ lead their children to believe that their only worth lies in their greatest sacrifice, their death. 

_(“Take care of each other.”)_

Mothers did the opposite.

An unrelenting cold settled over Adora and she stifled a sob in her throat. Gone was the warmth of her reborn planet. It was as if every pain-driven emotion was now awake inside her, fighting for her attention, anger and sadness and pity and resent and _relief,_ all swirling together in her lungs and pressing, beating, against her ribcage to be let out. But where was Adora supposed to even start? Among the ruins of her closest parental relationship when she was supposed to be walking into Etheria’s new future? 

_(“I will_ never _forgive you! You ruin people! You ruin any chance they could_ ever _be happy!”)_

“Adora?” a soft voice broke her lamentations and stopped her grief in its tracks before it could paralyze her. Adora braved a look forward. Standing there bathed in daylight, Catra held her hand out, a tender expression on her face. It was just her and Melog; somewhere in Adora’s recollection of what happened before the Heart the others must’ve continued on. Maybe to give the two of them space. Maybe because Adora’s grief was her own, and it was easier for the collective to let her carry it alone.

“Catra-” Adora’s voice caught.

“I know, Adora. I know.”

Adora looked into her split eyes. She expected, after all these years of shouldering trauma and repressing her most primal emotions, that when she made eye contact with her best friend the only image that would greet her would be the settling dust of a killing blow- but no. Just blue and gold. The same blue and gold Adora opened her own eyes to back there under the beating of the Heart.

_(“I love you, too.”)_

Because it wasn’t Shadow Weaver that saved Adora from death, or was the reason she was standing here with a life to be lived. That was all Catra. It was _always_ Catra.

Adora took Catra’s offered hand in hers. A traded smile, an unspoken sentiment passed between them, a promise whispered only the dark before, now reality in the daylight. Because true to her existence in this moment, the path she will walk with Catra does not lead her to the end like all the paths before.

It will lead her to their new beginning.

_

**_The Command Center; Five minutes apart, 72 seconds._ **

Catra’s pretty sure she’s reached her end.

She can at least _hope_ it’s the end, when the hysterical reality of it all is that she is still- somehow- _hours_ away from the end and hours away from the part where she can close her eyes and not care about opening them again. Like her body would allow Catra the quiet dignity of going limp and passing out on the Command Center floor, anyway. Like she’d _let_ herself in the presence of a Princess and a King and soldiers with nothing better to do milling about, or with the reason this agony has overwhelmed her in the first place counting on her to stay fucking conscious.

 _Just picture her, hold on for her,_ is the last remaining coherent thought in Catra’s brain and it’s the only one that keeps Catra panting, heaving, crying through her nearly two minutes long contractions. She’s past pretending it’s anyone other than Adora speaking these soft words of encouragement to her; the more her exhaustion wraps around her like a heavy blanket, the more Catra welcomes her wife’s voice in her head. Catra labors on, and as the pain that locks her jaw and turns her vision red and makes her want to fall into an endless sleep comes over her again, she lets this inferior substitute of Adora talk her through it and pretends in delirium she’s really there.

When “Adora” tells her to imagine the sound of their daughter crying for the first time, Catra lets her ears flick up and her heart clenches. When “Adora” instructs her to picture that moment when she’ll be holding their baby after she’s delivered and this pain is finally, _finally_ over- Catra all but breaks down. Just the reminder she has _no idea_ what her baby looks like yet but is only _hours_ away from seeing her for the first time pushes Catra over the hurdle and has her resolving to meet the next one. She has to beat this- she’s _going_ to beat this- if she’s going to meet the little person she’s spent nine months creating.

 _I’ve got you,_ Catra wills her daughter to know as one hand traces her belly and the other tears through a strip of paneling. There’s no way this amount of physical stress is doing her unborn kid any good either and for her, the hardest part has yet to begin. _I’ve got you kiddo and I love you so much it’s unreal. Can you hang on just a little longer? Adora, your mom, she’s not here yet, okay, and I need her to be if I’m going to get you out in one piece._

Beyond the ache and soreness in her abdomen, Catra feels a familiar jerk and chuckles to herself. Maybe it’s because she’s lightheaded and even in the presence of Bow and Frosta and her soldiers Catra is so terribly alone and stranded in her pain, but Catra notices a growing gratitude she’s at least in this with her daughter. The unborn baby has made for strange company throughout her pregnancy, but Catra almost senses a companionship they’ve built together in the last grueling hours out of solidarity. No longer can she fault her little one for the timing of this complete and total clusterfuck; Catra just wants to stay awake long enough to make sure her daughter comes into this world kicking and screaming- and that her wife is there to witness it.

Catra, ears flicking up, stays slumped over the control panel and panting through her nose as the familiar tread of boots becomes louder and closer. She’s not surprised to hear Bow’s voice next; the Bright Moon King must be comfortable enough with her creative and rowdy displays of “coping” with labor to approach while she’s mid contraction. Unlike a certain Kingdom of Snows Princess, who stays as far away from Catra and the “scary amounts of fluid” leaking from her body, not even making a polite attempt to hide her disgust at the biological process. Frosta has to make some comment re: her said disgust about every twenty five minutes or so, and it’s the _opposite_ of helpful, but she stays for some reason.

“Okay, I just received word from Glimmer,” Bow starts and Catra forces her eyes open. A breathy whine escapes her and she arches her back, claws digging into metal rivets carved during previous contractions, “She’s just got one more thing to wrap up in Bright Moon and then she says she’s coming here immediately. But I should warn you that once I told her you’ve kinda been in labor this entire time… she got pretty pissed at you for not saying anything.”

Catra lets out a breathy laugh despite the deep clench in her muscles. That’s fine. Glimmer can be pissed with Catra. Like it’s ever going to amount to the way Catra’s pissed with herself. 

_Or how upset Adora’s going to be._

The thought has Catra convulsing, sobbing. She’s never forgiven herself- not really- for the suffering she caused in Adora back in the war, back in the Fright Zone, withholding the love Adora starved for because Catra was more comfortable wallowing in shame and then lashing out at Adora for being unable to love her back. Catra’s made plenty of silent vows since the era of peace She Ra ushered in began; none are as heavy, or as hard to keep, as to stop herself from hurting Adora anymore than she already has. 

Another part of her, the exhausted, weak, scared to death part, doesn’t give a flying fuck how many promises are broken if Adora would just _get_ here and hold her through this hardest part of this that’s still yet to come. Catra makes a strangled noise, and it must sound like Adora’s name because Bow’s telling her next,

“Frosta says Adora’s still in the Whispering Woods,” A well timed growl bursts from her throat at this news, “But Melog’s basically the fastest method of transportation on the planet next to Glimmer. She’s gonna be at your house soon. Don’t worry, Catra.”

_We’re not making it back to the house._

Bow’s hand comes to the small of her back. It’s almost volatile, her reaction to being touched like this in the state she’s in by someone who isn’t Adora. A litany of grunts and growls follow in protest, but Catra does not have it in her anymore to chase her friend away. His support is brotherly; Catra just has to keep telling herself this. Bow won't hurt her and he won’t hurt her daughter and right now that _has_ to be good enough. 

“You’re not going to like this suggestion, but I think you should sit down.” 

Catra lets out a raggedity breath. The last, most brutal seconds of her contraction are passing, but the pain clings to her like she’s a magnet for it. Keeping her eyes from fluttering shut and staying closed is becoming more and more of an impossible task. “No, Bow… I _can’t_. I’m too tired. I just need to-”

“Catra, no, c’mon-”

“Bow, _please._ I need to stay standing,” her voice is hoarse as she resists. Too bad she’s too spent to fight him when he guides her away from the control panel and over to the War Table. “Ugh, I think I’m gonna faint. I’m gonna go to sleep and then it’s all,” she heaves, her feet stumbling, “it’s all gonna be over.”

The King pushes Catra down into a chair with enough gentle strength to keep her there, “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you awake. Hey, while I go over to check on how the Princesses are doing with that mega storm, maybe Frosta can talk to you and try to keep you conscious until Glimmer gets here.”

“I can do what?” Catra hears the ice princess startle. Bow’s hand leaves her arm and she listens to his footsteps recede. She breathes, in for four seconds and out for five because she’s dying for _some_ clarity of mind. Using the correct breathing techniques is only manageable when she’s _not_ contracting, but Catra will take anything to ground her at this point. The buzzing atmosphere of the Command Center now that another Runestone is active is like a dull drum of white noise. Not exactly the best ambience for giving birth. Or for staying awake.

No one’s given her an update on the Surge- no one’s let Catra do her _real_ job- in hours.

Without the distraction of the pain or Adora around or their baby twitching between her hipbones or even her usurped responsibilities, there’s nothing to keep Catra’s forehead from sliding down her arm, further and further and further-

“I’m never having kids!” Frosta declares emphatically- and out of nowhere. Catra’s tail jerks up, but that is her only response. “I just decided that. Right now.”

“Good for you,” Catra mutters into the crook of her elbow. Her nose twitches and for a brief moment, she thinks she smells salt.

“I mean, you’ve been at this for what, like three days-”

“Eighteen hours.”

“-and you still have to squeeze a head the size of a melon out of your vagina which is already not very big naturally and then that melon is going to poop and pee and cry and _never_ sleep-”

“Chill, I think she gets the picture.” a voice with a little too much casualty cuts off Frosta’s rant and Catra is almost grateful- until she peels her head away from her arm and sees Mermista hovering. Salt, as in from _ocean water,_ hits Catra’s sense of smell full force this time and it does _wonders_ for her steady nausea. If Catra hurls her guts out onto Mermista’s boots, would that make getting this kid out of her any easier? Survey says no- but Catra’s tempted nonetheless by the smirk on the Queen’s face.

“What are _you_ doing here?” is Catra’s hazy, one foot in reality way of asking why she’s abandoned the civilian bunkers by her kingdom and therefore under her command to come waffle around the War Table and blink at Catra’s distress.

“Glimmer ordered me here,” she shrugs and Catra growls, “She said something about an Alliance emergency, which I’m guessing is you in childbirth?”

Catra wonders for a split second if she imagines it- the look of sympathy on Mermista’s usually bored face. The Salineas Queen is one of the only ranking members of the Alliance, besides Scorpia who’s delivery Catra knew one too many details about, to have given birth before. Frosta and Bow cannot fathom the discomfort Catra’s in or the task ahead of her, but Mermista most certainly can. Her drunken night of unprotected fun with Sea Hawk was just another indirect reason Catra was in the mess.

 _Stupid adorable Kai, stupid babysitting session that made Adora look like she’d be such a good mom and made me_ dumb enough _to think I could carry our baby!_

“Do you like, know how dilated you are?” There. Now Catra can hear the concern passed her blase front.

“Why? Did you wanna take a look?” Catra (half) jokes in response. 

She and Mermista both ignore Frosta’s gagging. “So you have no idea how close to pushing you are? Ocean almighty, that’s gotta suck.”

“All of this looks like it sucks. A lot.”

Yep, mhmm. This conversation is helping, one hundred percent. Totally outshines Adora whispering soft sentiments in her ear to encourage her and rubbing her back and shoulders, totally makes up for the fact that Catra could be another thirty minutes or another three hours before she feels those first commands from her muscles to start pushing yet is _no closer_ to knowing what interval it’s going to be. 

Shaking hand closing around Adora’s pin, Catra tries to resume her breathing. She tries to focus her mind on her daughter and her daughter only. Not Mermista’s semi genuine commentary or the repulsion Frosta’s more than happy to keep reminding Catra about. Not on the tiredness like any Catra’s ever known, lulling her back into a false sense of security so it’s that much easier for her to let her guard down. Not on the strange, heavy scent curdling between her thighs and sticking her the fabric of her pants to her legs. 

Catra’s water broke four hours ago; she’s in her General’s uniform still. Okay, she hadn’t exactly made it a priority for some soldier to fetch her whatever lost-and-found items were clean enough and could fit her because Catra couldn’t see the point. Why not just labor butt naked so that _everyone_ could see _everything_ since they were all determined to stare at her anyway? Maybe then someone could tell her how close she is to the golden ten centimeters that represented the final stretch (literally).

Now in a uniform made damp by slick and sweat in places that should never be, Catra adds “not asking for new clothes” to her list of choices she regrets today. Not like that list couldn’t stand to get any longer. No one congregating in the C.C’s second floor has made any offers to try and scrounge up a robe or something- _anything._ Frosta, too grossed out. Bow, too busy now that he’d relieved Catra of her duties. 

Speaking of which-

“Do either of you have anything _meaningful_ to say,” Catra asks through grit teeth, fingers forming a fist above her eyebrows too tightly knit, “Like an update on the magic tearing apart Etheria?”

“Oh, that’s almost over.” Mermista waves her hand.

“At least according to the intel Entrapta sent back last. The Black Garnet still hasn’t settled down yet,” clarifies Frosta.

“But seriously,” Mermista presses on before Catra can snag a window to ask another question, “how are you doing this without _any_ painkillers? If I didn’t have that Sea Urchin venom literally numbing me from the chest down, those thirty seven hours I spent delivering Kai probably would’ve killed me.”

Catra just lets out a groan, slumping further into her body.

“If only Scorpia were here. She could sting you in the back and that would probably take care of it- _wait,”_ Frosta slams her hands on the table, “you were giving birth for _thirty seven hours_? That’s possible?!”

“Honestly, I didn’t care how long it took. Kai was like a week and half overdue-”

“ _Over_ due?” The way Frosta practically screeches has Catra wishing a complication would just kill her on the spot.

“-and he has Sea Hawk’s _gigantic_ head, so when the midwife wanted to trigger labor I said yes because I just needed to get it over with. Seeing Catra like this is actually a pretty good reminder and I’m totally showing Sea Hawk when he gets here-” _Sea Hawk is about to be here? For Etheria’s Sake,_ fuck _me! Is there_ anyone _watching the mass of civilians we sent to Salineas?_ “-since he’s talking about having another one and all. It’s like I don’t even remember how bad it hurt.”

“Really? This looks _pretty_ memorable, Mermista!” 

Catra knows her next contraction is on the horizon and she almost feels ready to jump at it. Jump at something that will distract from what was supposed to be the distraction but is just making her out to be more of a failure, so close to passing out because she can’t do the _one_ she’s worth her salt for- withstand a couple of hours of pain. She lets her teeth sink into the flesh of her bottom lip to keep from scream-crying and lets the pain begin at the top of her abdomen for the next cycle.

_Just think about her. She makes this worth it, she’s worth this and hundred times more! She makes this worth it._

“Yeah, your brain secretes this hormone after you give birth to make you forget about the pain and the bleeding and the tearing so that your parental nature can kick back and convince you to have another baby.”

“That’s it,” Catra is only fractionally aware of the way Frosta throws her hands up. “I’m bequeathing my kingdom. I’m not having a biological heir- I’ll just name one instead.”

“Imagine if we were on one of those more archaic planets where you’d _have_ to have a biological heir and couldn’t just pick among the worthy and educated people in your kingdom? How fucked up is that?” Mermista floats the hypothetical as a testament to how alone Catra really is. Somehow she’s become the last remaining person in the room to remember she’s in labor. Bow’s wherever Bow is (trying to clean up Catra’s mess). Adora and Melog MIA despite the promise of their return. Soldiers preoccupied, Princesses left to find entertainment amongst themselves when Catra makes for a disgusting bore.

 _“So_ fucked up,” agrees Frosta. “Some planets in this dimension are so backwards.”

“Not helping,” Catra manages this groan of despair. Acting on pure impulse- it’s all she’s been reduced to- her claws catch the edge of the War Table’s main set of controls, and a long drawn out screech rings in her ears as she drags her hand down. The projection on the table flickers as claws catch and snap wires, cut through switches and dials, shred the metallic casing easy. The release of pressure is not enough.

“Um... we were using that.” Frosta tells her.

Catra doesn’t respond. Catra has _no idea anymore_ as her contraction hits its peak what is evening happening outside of her body. What is it to her or to anyone’s comfort if she’s stopped holding back her wailing in her throat or is corse grunts or the dry heaving that’s her last attempt at staying conscious? 

_Do I deserve this?_ Her mind has far from wandered from the fantasies of holding her child close for the first time and into dangerous territory. Briefly, and beyond the pain, Catra’s memories of all the pain she’s caused others comes flooding back to her. The suffering and the hurt and the fear- not unlike what she experiences now- she conjured in innocent people during her time as Hordak’s second in command. Fae would tell Catra that her emotions right now have no logical basis, but Catra knows. Catra _understands._ How bold was she to parade around acting like she could be the conqueror of Etheria, the rightful leader of the Horde when she can’t even bring the one person relying on her for their _entire life_ into the world safely? No amount of atoning would rewrite the past and restack the deck in Catra’s favor. She was a fool to buy into any other truth.

 _Even if I do deserve to be in the worst pain in my life in front of everyone important on the damn planet and yet somehow more alone than I’ve ever been, my daughter_ doesn’t _deserve it. It’s not fair to punish both of us when she hasn’t done anything wrong. Adora, please, where are you?!_

Too lost in this thought, and the time between her contractions overlapping more and more, Catra doesn't even notice when the pain seeps out of her muscles and this particularly brutal round ends. What she does notice, however, her ears perking up and her fur reacting to the charged atmosphere, is the familiar _woosh!_ of glittery Princess magic and the shrillness that follows.

“I’m here! I made it! I’m here!” the Queen of Bright Moon’s shouts take up the entire room, “Where’s Bow? Where’s- Catra!” 

“Glimmer!” Catra hears Bow call out for his wife, looking up to see him running across the room to the place Glimmer’s chosen to hover over Catra. Catra’s happy to let her head fall to the War Table just in time to miss their heartfelt, drawn out embrace. Of course they deserve it; if anyone in this room deserves a love like the King and Queen were lucky enough to share, it was the King and Queen. But right now, it’s just a step above too much. A degrading reminder of exactly what Catra is missing out in this moment.

_C’mon, Adora._

“What’s going on back in Bright Moon? Did you find someone to temporarily head the Short Term Repairs committee?” Bow asks, frantic yet somehow relieved at the same time.

“Yeah,” Catra peels her head up to see Glimmer nodding emphatically, “My parents are on their way from Mystacore now.”

“Good,” sighs Bow, all of the tiredness this day has taken a toll on him rolling off his tongue, “‘Cause we could really use your help here.” 

The two exchange a complete conversation with just one look before turning in tandem to lock eyes with Catra. Glimmer, face flushed from exertion, looks her up and down and makes a move to open her mouth when Catra cuts her off.

“Spare the lecture, Sparkles. I am _so_ not in the mood,” Catra half hisses, half moans, letting her head fall back over the chair’s rim. 

Glimmer throws her hands up in surrender. Oh, so it turns out someone _does_ know better than to push her after eighteen straight hours of childbirth. But- like husband, like wife. The Queen of Bright Moon has a plan up her sleeve just as objectionable as any of Bow’s grand ideas.

“We need to get you home, Catra. Your birthing suite is there, right? I think Adora called it ‘The Nest’ a few weeks ago-” But right as Glimmer reaches across for Catra’s wrist, the charge of the air ramping and changing, Catra is just as quick to pull herself away. 

“No!” Catra yelps. Using her foot to push her chair away, Catra ignores the expression of admonishment on the faces of her audience. She emphasizes each of her next words, “You are _not_ teleporting me.”

Catra thought that was an _obvious_ given; regardless of whether she was Glimmer’s enemy or close friend, didn’t matter. She has always despised the sickening somersault every molecule in her body did as it was torn apart and thrown back together as a result of the Queen’s convenient powers. Never has she spared her feelings regarding teleportation. Now that Catra’s pregnant- no, not just pregnant _,_ but in _active labor_ \- Glimmer, Bow, Frosta, and Mermista, they all believed she’d just be okay with subjecting her _unborn baby_ to the same perverted process!?

Magic’s already torn apart the planet and her plans today. Catra will see them step over her dead body before any of the said power source comes near her daughter.

“I have had another person _growing_ inside me for _thirty eight weeks,_ ” Catra, shielding her belly with what little strength she still possesses, reiterates, “I am not in the mood to be violated anymore!”

She expects Bow and Glimmer to fight her on this. She expects Mermista and Frosta to pile on the pressure. Catra’s _ready_ for that. Instead, Bow and Glimmer stand there in contemplative silence, looking between each other, looking over to her, and looking at each other once again. 

_Oh, Stars. What idiotic thing are they planning now?_

“Uh, maybe we can escort you through the Woods?” Bow tries but Catra shakes her and forces her eyes closed.

“No, no, there’s no time. I have _no_ idea how close I am to pushing, remember? I can’t risk going into the next phase of labor in the middle of the Woods… I’m having the baby here.” 

_There. I said it._

Catra gives them the honest truth because there’s absolutely no point in pretending they’re on a different trajectory. _Hours_ ago, crying alone on the bathroom floor, Catra came to grips with the future she locked herself in when she let Adora walk out the door without any knowledge about what was _really_ happening.

Still. Hearing herself admit in defeat what she’s kept in the dark has Catra adding with a low, seething laugh, “Great. I’m having my baby in the fucking _Command Center_ and Adora isn’t even here!”

“You can’t!” Bow and Frosta say- for completely different reasons.

“Catra, we are so underprepared for _this_ to be the place a new person is born!”

“You’re going to get afterbirth, _everywhere!_ ”

“What about your midwife? None of _us_ can deliver a baby! What about- what about what the baby is going to need when she is born? It’s _way_ too dirty in here! Have you seen how many soldiers don’t wash their hands when they’re in the bathroom? Catra, what if something goes wrong? What about complications?” Bow finishes, practically hysterical and oh yeah, that’s _just_ what Catra needs- his voice breaking over and over in her twitching ear.

“Bow’s right, Catra-”

Catra slams her hands down on the War Table, cutting Glimmer off as the second echoes throughout the room. Tears are pricking her eyes. “Don’t you get it? I don’t have a choice!” _I gave that up hours ago._ “I don’t… I was doomed from the start.” Catra’s voice drops and she ignores the look of concern that takes over Glimmer’s expression; she doesn’t deserve it. “I _failed,_ damn it _._ She’s not even here and I already failed! What about that can’t you guys understand? Adora was wrong. I was never the kind of person who’d be a good mom... _what_ was I thinking?”

She takes her head in her hands. 

Her revelation, having stunned her friends into silence, hangs in the air and warps the atmosphere around them. But Catra is so past caring. Shoulders collapsing, she falls to the surface of the table and makes no effort to lift herself out of the despair. 

Catra _does_ deserve this. For nearly destroying Etheria, for causing Adora sorrow, for being just selfish enough to want a child. Wallowing in front of an entire audience of Royalty and Soldiers seems a cruel punishment, but Catra doesn’t think it even starts to scratch the surface of what her actions warrant.

And then out of this silence, Glimmer starts giving out orders. 

“Alright, listen up Alliance. Bow, sweetie, I want you to find a spare cot from storage, and then I want you to get every blanket and pillow hidden on the first floor. Everyone’s always hiding them in their offices, which you of course have the override code to, and bring them to the spare diplomat office past the second floor bathrooms. Oh, and towels! Lots and _lots_ of towels!”

“Roger.” Bow affirms, mouthing something about “finally,” and Catra lifts her head, looking up in bewilderment.

“Mermista- I need you to find Catra something else to wear, like a robe or medical gown. Get creative if you have to, we can’t exactly afford to be picky right now.”

“Yeah,” Mermista shrugs, “I guess I can do that.”

“And Frosta,” Glimmer turns to the last of their group and points a finger, “I need you to find a big bowl, the bigger the better, take it to the same place Bow’s gonna bring the cot and make as many ice chips as possible. _Without_ any commentary, please.”

Frosta, tight lipped for the first time, gives a little nod. 

All Catra can do is gape as the three take off to fulfill their tasks. Her voice is small when she asks Glimmer, “What are you doing?”

“If you can’t go to your birthing suite,” Glimmer says matter-of-factly, coming to her side and resting a gloved hand on her shoulder, “then _I’ll_ bring the birthing suite to you. Well, _a_ birthing suite. It’s definitely not going to be as nice as the one Adora probably built for you, but it’ll be better than nothing.”

“I-I,” Catra stutters and grunts, the start of another contraction seizing her tongue and cutting off her confusion. _For the love of the first ones, Holy FUCK!_ The pain delivered is the pain she deserves. More than deserves.

Glimmer forces a small smile as the tears begin creeping down Catra’s face, promptly giving her pain away loud and clear even more so than the hiss Catra sucks in. Glimmer makes a move to lift Catra from the chair Bow detained her in not fifteen minutes ago; Catra doesn’t fight her when she’s pulled from the seat or guided in the direction of the anterior doors. There’s no point in doing so. The spare diplomat office the Queen plans on taking her too lies just outside those doors- right next to the bathroom Catra was positive would be the place she’d give birth in hours ago. 

The fucking irony. 

_Why are you helping me,_ Catra wants to ask, _I got myself into this mess, you have a kingdom to run, the only person I hurt worse than you was Adora, why waste pity on me?_ All that comes is a pathetic squeak in her effort to keep walking, stay standing, but Glimmer understands the gist of the noise just the same.

Right. The two _have_ been friends for the last decade. Close friends, the strangest of companions forged in the strangest of situations.

 _Have I just been using this pain as another excuse to push people away? What, I’m in pain for more than ten seconds and my nineteen year headcase self rears her ugly head? Eternia, I_ do _deserve everything I have coming to me._

“You’re not a bad person, Catra, and you’re _not_ going to be a bad mom,” declares Glimmer as they hobble across the Command Center’s main hub. “ _You_ sacrificed yourself on Prime’s ship so I could get back to Bow and Adora. Then, after he chipped you, _you_ willingly went back into the Hive Mind to get the intel that told us how he was taking over Etheria. _You_ helped Scorpia restructure the Fright Zone into a place where Etheria could welcome Prime’s refugees. _You_ built the Command Center and have basically been a stubborn ass when it comes to keeping peace throughout the galaxy.”

Glimmer stops their feet before they reach the doors of their destination.

“Oh, and don’t forget, _you_ led the mission to get my mom back from a place people don’t come back from. You can’t be a rescuer of moms and somehow be a bad mom, Catra.”

Hand gripping Adora’s pin, Catra lets out a whimper. Every inch of her is trapped in a dead heat, pain rolling through her weak and fatigued limbs like waves that have ever so slowly eroded away her mental and physical strength. Her mouth tastes of copper and salt. The cool tile the pads of her feet stand on is calling her name. Could there be a better time, her knees shaking as if she’s one step away from collapsing, to answer her friend’s candidacy with vulnerability?

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Catra says, her voice meager and shaking.

A _whir!_ echoes in Catra’s ears as Glimmer places her hand on the scanner and the doors whisk open, bringing back the telltale scent of Salineas sea salt. “Yes, Catra. You _can_. You’re definitely buttheaded enough too.”

Catra feels a gentle warmth on her skin as Glimmer takes her hand. It’s grounding.

“Oh hello ladies,” a baritone voice greets them when the doors whisk open, Glimmer and Catra looking up at the same time to see Sea Hawk standing in front of them. Catra lets out a hiss that could rival a steam kettle. “Catra! I heard the glorious news that you are in labor from Mermista! You must tell me every detail of the hours that have proceeded this moment so that I, a fair pirate, consort, and bard, can commemorate a shanty in your daughter's honor! Tell me-”

Catra, pushed off balance the _wrenching_ and the _yanking_ as her current contraction reaches its unforgiving peak, can only catch Sea Hawk by his elbows- and scream.

Patting her mane, Sea Hawk can only mumble over the sound of her shrieking, “Uh, um, yes, okay. We’ll just- we’ll talk after the baby comes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ONE MORE CHAPTER!  
> Thank you all again for reading. Best wishes, and stay safe.  
> Xoxo, Sav


	6. when you decide it's your time to arrive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such wonder could never be found in obsessive preparation or in apprehension, in which a lifetime of self-inflicted disappointment hides behind. This is the kind of wonder that is found and is held in hope and the belief that Catra and Adora have slowly built together, moment by moment, over the last ten years: it is okay to hope, it is okay to want and to hold that hope high, for not everything is a spelled out disaster waiting to crush those very expectations. More often than not, the words “it’s going to be okay,” turn out to be the truth waiting on the other side. And sometimes, those once in twenty lifetimes sometimes, those expectations unfold into unprecedented miracles. Like when Adora kept that unyielding love for her best friend behind a locked door only for Catra to come kick it down.
> 
> And like right now, as Adora suspends her disbelief in her ability to be a mom and admits to herself that she wants this more than she is scared of it.  
> _
> 
> This is the end. It's also the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome back to my podcast “I can’t shut up” this episode we’ll be covering why I can’t write short things and why it’s ruining my life: this was supposed to be one chapter but it got too long asdfghjk.
> 
> I’ll make this really short but because I’m posting the last two chapters together I just wanted to say one big giant thank you to everyone who made this happen. When I started uploading this fic I was almost positive that it would tank- not that (as of when I’m posting) that it would break 10k hits. If you read this or supported it in any way, you are definitely the reason I’ve finished and I am SO grateful to all of you. I’ve enjoyed and savored each little comment and returned to them when things got difficult. Thank you for letting me indulge my dream of writing a baby fic and thank you for letting me write a story that speaks for itself.

**_Somewhere in the Whispering Woods; Eighteen and a Half Hours_ **

The steady _beat beat, beat beat, beat beat_ of Melog’s paws on the forest ground is the only sound around for miles.

Adora listens, but does not hear. She’s not present as the background of trees and woodland foliage becomes a distant blur in her periphery. The Woods are bathed in the soft oranges, golds and pinks of sundown; observation of this daily change does not shift Adora’s focus in any way. The beatdown of wind that threatened to blow her and her squad into oblivion just hours ago has cleared up and left a serene silence in its wake, yet Adora pays no attention to obstacles that are no longer there. It’s as if the magic of Surge didn’t come close to wiping out the Woods and everything in its path at all. 

Adora doesn’t think anything of any of it.

Her mind is somewhere far away from Melog’s padding paws and their furious sprint back to through the center of the Whispering Woods towards the Command Center. The Grayskull Embassy is their destination; Melog ran past the hidden path that would lead back to cottage miles ago, so the embassy is where Adora channels every ounce of strength and energy and love.

 _Okay,_ Adora recounts for the hundredth time since setting off, _the average time spent in early labor can be anywhere from six to twelve hours. The average time spent in active labor is about eight hours, but it_ can _be longer. Catra started stirring in our bed at around two in the morning, so it’s been about eighteen hours. She’s had to have entered active labor by this point. She could be pushing by this point. She could’ve had our baby… by this point._

Under Melog’s mane, Adora’s grip tightens. 

How impossible it feels to try to work logic around _that_ kind of math. The idea that Catra is all alone, her _wife_ is somewhere where Adora isn’t and facing brutal contractions head on is one that has tears brimming in her eyes. She can’t even bring herself to think that Catra could be fully dilated and ready to push- _without her_ \- let alone already at the next possible step. The step everything’s been leading up to.

 _My baby could be here,_ here _here, in the real world and I missed it because what? Being She Ra was more important?! She could’ve already taken her first breath and I didn’t even get to_ hand her _to Catra! How am I supposed to be there for her while she grows up if I can’t even be there when she’s born?_

That thought is enough to almost wreck her. All of Adora’s resolve and determination to reunite with her family hinge on the condition that she’s _going to be there_ for the grand finale, those last few tense and strained moments of anticipation and that her presence then will make up for all of her earlier mistakes today. But if her baby has entered this world without Adora there-

A subtle, almost imperceptible vibration travels through Adora’s body and halts her from spiraling again. Melog’s two cents. A quiet reminder to leave her head before she is completely lost. They’ve had to pluck Adora out of her worst fears and even harsher sentiments about herself more times than she can count on this ride together _on top of_ maintaining a speed Adora’s never seen in the ten years since they met on the dead planet of Krytis.

“Sorry, you’re right Melog,” Adora lets out a breath, her words jumbled and hitched because this is _not at all like_ riding a horse, “We’ll make it in time.”

Is there anything Adora doesn't owe Melog at this point? Melog left Catra, the person they are sworn most loyal to, everything else be damned, in the midst of her early labor just to retrieve Adora and make sure she was back in time. Adora would be in debt to them- a million ear and chin scratches in debt- for the rest of her entire life.

“We’ll make it in time.”

Without Melog- well, Adora doesn’t know if she’d know her daughter was coming at all. Walking out the door this morning despite listening to Catra toss and turn in vain for several hours and knowing she was in _some_ kind of distress must’ve been what made Catra so relentlessly angry that she shut off all communication with her wife. About developments concerning the Surge, about the movements of the Alliance, about her being _in_ childbirth… about their little girl. 

_I thought leaving her alone was the right thing to do. She doesn’t get any rest when I fret over her the entire night, as much as she might’ve enjoyed all the attention at the start._

But Adora can not find it within herself to go to battle with Catra’s reasoning as Melog bounds forward over a fallen tree trunk and her grasp on their neck tenses. Just like all the evidence Catra could’ve already had their baby, there is evidence here that adds up, too. If Adora wanted to be a part of their daughter’s life, or her birth- she should’ve been paying better attention. So this is on her. For all her claiming of knowing Catra, of being the person that knew her wife more than anyone in any galaxy, it has become more and more obvious in the most excruciating way just how _wrong_ Adora’s been to think so highly of herself. Adora loved Catra years before she held any notion of what love and want really were, years before she came to accept that it was okay that love and want were a _part_ of her, and every single day that has followed Catra’s life saving- and life changing- confession. And yet, the way Adora loves Catra then would _pale_ in comparison to love she feels for her _in this moment._

It’s still not enough. Love is not knowing someone to a greater extent than they know themselves. If it was knowing, if it was _enough_ , Adora would be _with_ Catra’s right now and not just on her leisurely way. Adora would’ve been there to be the first person their daughter saw, to place her on Catra’s chest, to swaddle her and promise to keep her safe no matter what.

No matter what has gone out the door.

 _No, I’m_ not _giving up. I can still make,_ we _can still make it._ Adora suppresses another round of violent anxiety rolling through her body. Every time she tears herself away from the fear, it comes back with vengeance and certainty that she won’t be escaping the next time she tries. _The average time spent in early labor can be anywhere from six to twelve hours. The average time spent in active labor is about eight hours, but it can_ _be longer. It’s usually longer for people having their first vaginal delivery, and that’s obviously Catra, so it makes sense that unless she’s an outlier she’d still be having contractions. What if she’s fully dilated and ready to push? It’s been almost eighteen hours, ugh I can’t believe I left her for_ eighteen damn hours, _it’s normal for first time parents to be entering the second stage of labor-_

When the _beat beat, beat beat_ of Melog’s run halts and is no longer echoing in Adora’s ears, when the centripetal force of Melog swinging to a stop sends Adora flying off their back and rolling across the grass, Adora’s first thought is that Melog’s officially done with her. They are done with her, her anxiety- honestly, Adora is just slowing Melog down and she’s already ruined her first chance! What makes her deserving of another? But as she lifts herself up to have some serious words with Melog about how hard she’s trying, that’s when Adora hears it. The first twinklings of magic. Her own magic warms throughout her body in unconscious response.

As Melog yowls, mane changing color to a defensive red, Glimmer appears out of thin air and lands on the ground. Adora’s stomach drops in a sickening rush to her feet and tears flood her eyes before she can even process her reaction. The sight of her friend, out of breath and expression grim, can only mean one thing.

 _She’s here. She came and I- I wasn’t_ _there. I wasn’t there for her, or for Catra… I missed it. I missed the birth of my baby._

“There you are!” Glimmer shouts. The greeting is a pathetic distraction from Adora’s heart breaking into thousands of tiny shards that stick in her lungs like pin cushion and become trapped in her throat. _I missed it!_ She wants to break down and sob; she’s only stopped by Glimmer’s continued rant, “I-” she pants, “-have been looking-” _I wasn’t there_ “-all over-” _I failed them. Again._ “-the old Fright Zone for you!” 

_How is she?_ Adora’s mind tries to shake off the image of Catra and their daughter curled up together, Catra explaining to their infant child in a quiet and restrained tone what possibly could have been a better use of Adora’s time than to be there and to be her mother, but she isn’t deserving of such a mocking mental image leaving her anytime soon. The questions that her conscious shoots off leave bruises on her psyche. _What does she weigh, how many inches is she? I was supposed to be the_ first _one to know all of that stuff. Does she have Catra’s nose like I’ve always pictured her having? Has Catra fed her yet, or have I missed that, too? Can she latch? She’s healthy, right?_

Glimmer says nothing. She only stands there, steadying herself with her hands on her knees, panting as she wipes the sweat from her frown. Adora is left to assume the worst in the silence.

“Glimmer-” somehow Adora manages to eek out the sound without bursting into tears. Asking _“She here’s, isn’t she?”_ or Etheria forbid, _“What went wrong?”_ because that is the only plausible follow up question that explains Glimmer’s appearance, would prove to be the next impossibility. Adora stands on the edge of a breakdown. If it were not for Glimmer extending her hand, grabbing Melog by the tail ignoring their wail of protest and Adora by the boot and-

_WOOSH!_

Adora opens her eyes. No longer is she lying in a patch of grass in the middle of the Whispering Woods, but standing in the vast and empty darkness of the floor beneath the Command Center- the Embassy’s lobby. Adora moves her foot back, her boot squeaking on the tile floor as Melog shakes off the last remnants of magic from their group teleport. Streaks of dying sunlight filter in through the shaded windows on the front wall and Adora can see the slew of vacant desks and chairs; no diplomat or ambassador has been stationed here in several months with the head General of Etheria out on leave anyway and no soldier or Princess would be needed in a room built for bureaucracy on a day like today. Adora perks up at the sound of Glimmer letting out a heavy sigh behind her. She turns on her heel.

A duel of desires contends against the walls of Adora’s chest. Catra and the baby- if she was born _breathing_ \- must be resting somewhere upstairs; how Catra could’ve given birth _here_ of all places on Etheria proves to Adora they’re a stubborn pair, but the hows and the whys are now inconsequential. A gravity is pulling Adora towards her wife and her daughter. Catra could hold this day of missed signals and dropped responsibilities against her wife for as long as she wants, but Adora knows Catra will forgive her. Probably. _Eventually._ She’s been forgiven for much loftier sins. 

Adora will- she’ll have to make up for this in ways that most definitely involve sleep deprivation, yes, but is Catra going to elect herself a single parent because Adora dropped this particular ball? Adora can practically hear her wife cackling at the suggestion.

Yet something in Adora fights the gravity, the urge and the _want,_ to run down the hall and up the stairs to the C.C. and see her family. See the reality she’s made. Dangerous _“What ifs”_ echo in behind her every thought and freeze every limb in place. If Adora has to run up and see that the reality she’s made is more than an angry wife and a child whom she is a stranger to… if the reality is a complication, a fatal hemorrhage, a stillborn- all because she wasn’t there.

Call it cowardice, negligence, immoral. But it's just not a reality Adora cannot bring herself to face.

So she finds herself trapped in her own body and her own desires, unable to unfreeze time and face the dreaded consequences. Her knees waver as if threatening to buckle beneath her. This is a type of fear Adora’s lucky to have experienced only one other unspeakable time in her life: when she held the broken body of her best friend close to her chest there on Prime’s ship, crying as she realized Catra wasn’t breathing. Adora can still feel the way the warmth drained from Catra’s lifeless form under Adora’s fingertips, can still feel Catra’s slowing heart beating fade against her chest... Just another catastrophe Adora could’ve prevented if she was there _in time_. 

And then- the familiar sound of strangled screaming reverberates through the Embassy lobby. _What?_ Adora’s entire body jerks up in response as Melog starts up yowling.

“She’s not here yet?” Adora, breathless out of fear and shock and hope, asks.

“Not yet,” Glimmer shakes her head, “But she’s coming, and quickly. That’s why I teleported you here. Adora-”

There’s no question. The first urge wins. Adora is taking off, _sprinting._ Melog is at her heels and the two head for the hallway and the adjoining stairs before Glimmer can dare finish her sentence. 

No. _No_ , there is _nothing_ else that is going to stop Adora from getting there, from being there. She and Catra have spent this entire, unrelenting day apart- the same day they dreamed about, whispered to each other about at night when neither could sleep. And those harrowing hours of separation end, right now.

_I made it! Holy Eternia, I fucking made it on time! I’m gonna get to see my daughter born. This is actually happening! Catra and I, we’re actually going to get to have this-_

“Adora!” 

The combination of sound and light are nothing short of startling. Adora’s feet slip out from under her, her left ankle still sore and weak from the rage of the roots earlier, and she catches herself on wrists right as her ass collides with the tile floor. Glimmer appears in front of her, again. 

“Ugh, why does every effort to get back to my wife end with me getting hurt?” she moans through a swollen lip. She must’ve bit it on the way down. “Glimmer, whatever it is, I just need to get _upstairs_ to Catra. I don’t have a lot of time, this can wait-”

Glimmer shakes her head even as she helps pull Adora from the ground, “No, Adora, this can’t. I couldn’t find your midwife. After we got Catra all set up in the spare office-” _That’s where she is?_ Adora can’t help it if she yanks her arm unconsciously out of Glimmer’s grasp and leans her weight away onto her good ankle. “- I started teleporting all over Etheria looking for her. I went to Mystacore _three_ times! But she wasn’t there and she’s not at any of the civilian outposts-”

“Glimmer!”

“-and when I asked Catra where I should look next she just asked me where you were, well she kind of growled/yelled it, so I went and got you instead.”

 _You didn’t come get me_ first _? Why!?_ But there is a look of genuine concern on Glimmer’s face, so Adora keeps that certain sentiment to herself. Another scream echoes from the second floor to the first.

“Listen, Perfuma’s up there with Catra now.”

At that, Adora stops trying to pull her arm away. “W-what? Perfuma’s just a doula!”

“Perfuma’s helped deliver lots of babies in Plumeria, even her own-”

“What is _Perfuma_ supposed to do if there’s a complication?!” 

“I did the best I could, okay!” shouts Glimmer, putting an end to their argument. “There’s not exactly a ton of protocol for what to do if your top general goes into labor in the Command Center.” _So?!_ “The last time I checked in, Perfuma said everything looked okay, you know, downstairs. She really is the best we have right now, Adora.”

Adora blinks the tears brimming out of her eyes. In the darkness, they’re most likely undetectable, but Adora is desperate to play down this little show of emotion. There still lives inside her the belief after all this time, all her growth, that wearing her heart on her sleeve is to admit weakness. Debilitating weakness. And none of them can afford that right now. _Especially_ as Catra’s screams continue traveling through the building until they meet Adora’s ear, and they are packed with pain and struggle in every decibel; Adora turns away from Glimmer to press the heels of palms into her eyes. 

“Can you keep looking? Please? Hertha- she has another clinic in Erelandia. That’s why Catra wanted her, because she was so close to the cottage. She can be _really_ headstrong- again, another reason Catra liked her- so she might not have followed the evacuation orders.” Adora sighs to disguise a sniffle.

“Yeah, Adora,” Glimmer’s voice is soft, “Of course I’ll keep looking.”

Adora exhales in relief, “Thank you. Thank you _so_ much Glimmer, for teleporting me here. I might not have made it in time-”

A well timed cry from the second floor cuts off Adora’s gratitude, reminding her promptly what she almost didn’t make it in time for. Making a face, the Queen looks up at the ceiling.

“Well, I guess everyone in the building now knows what’s happening to Catra.”

Adora almost laughs, her hands flying to her temple, “Of course Catra’s _loud_ during childbirth. She’s loud during so many other things.”

“Sparring?” Glimmer lifts an eyebrow.

“Ha ha.”

“Good luck, Adora.”

The air around them lights up a bright pink and when Adora blinks, Glimmer is gone in a shower of sparkle. Running her hand under her eyes one more time, Adora takes a breath before starting back for the stairs again. Glimmer could’ve teleported her, but the two had been friends for so long that they both understood that letting Adora race up to the spare office would be faster than Glimmer’s magic, no question about it. And a way more effective use of her adrenaline. Adora’s boots hitting the steps are the only sound around as she bolts up the staircase; Melog left her side right after Glimmer stopped Adora in the hallway, the message not for them. 

Adora jumps over the staircase landing, the sound of Catra’s screaming telling her she’s getting warmer.

_I’m actually going to make it. No more surprises. No more interruptions._

The entry doors _whoosh!_ open as Adora’s hand almost shatters the DNA scanner. She pays no mind to the greetings and comments of soldiers standing around the C.C as she speeds through the waiting and open anterior doors. All Adora can hear and can focus on are the verbal indications of Catra’s contractions- the crying, the screaming, the insane but understood amount of cursing.

Adora spins and she catches the handle of the spare office’s door. Her strength rivals that of her celestial alter ego when she pushes the door open, gasping. “Catra!”

What meets her is a scene so far removed from the one Adora over prepared and overplanned for. Every piece of furniture and decorum has been moved up against the wall; in the space where the desk, chair, and filing cabinets would be during any other normal day or normal Siege, Adora spots a standard grade military cot draped in the fleece blankets Netossa hordes in a hidden place downstairs. A heart-shaped throw pillow she recognizes from Bow’s office is sitting at the cot’s head. Bath towels lay covering almost all of the tile. In the corner, there’s a large bowl from the communal kitchen half way full of water and dripping condensation. This is about the farthest set-up from the Nest imaginable. But what about today _hasn’t_ been?

_This is their attempt at a birthing suite? I guess it's… practical?_

Practical, yes? Comfortable? Far from it considering Catra’s not even resting _in_ the cot or kneeling on the towels. She _stands,_ like the stubborn child she is, over the disregarded desk. Her elbows are shaking violently as Catra presses her hands on the surface; those fatal claws of hers digging into the metal from the sound of it. Forget the comfortable, efficient outfits for her to wear during this moment that Adora spent _months_ agonizing over- Catra is dressed in what must be an old ceremonial robe shoved into storage years ago. 

Adora understands this is the best her friends could do. Adora wishes nonetheless that they were _anywhere_ else for this. 

Catra’s back is turned and Melog lifts their head up as Adora takes a tentative step in. It wouldn’t do any good to sneak up on Catra in this state, to bombard her with the _eighteen hours of support_ Adora is now in debt to her, but resisting the urge to run up and hold her is without a doubt the most difficult thing Adora’s ever had to do.

“Fuck!” Catra screams, her head collapsing as she resumes sobbing. Adora’s heart lurches in her chest at the sound and the sight. As often as Adora would make herself picture this moment to mentally prepare for this day, nothing, not a _single damn thing,_ could have ever prepared her to see Catra in this caliber of indescribable suffering.

Perfuma stands right beside Catra, careful to rub her back in slow and delicate motions. Her voice is gentle, soothing, and somehow enough to ignite a strange jealousy in Adora as she guides Catra through the motions, “You’re doing great, Catra. Just breathe through the pain, it’s going to be alright.” 

Catra makes a noise, a whimper almost, that strikes Adora like a knife in between her ribs. Adora can place that whimper among a litany of sounds she’s had memorized most of her life. A small, verbal disagreement with a doula that _no,_ it is most certainly _not_ going to be alright and she’s absolutely crazy to think otherwise.

An eternity passes. Adora shifts, meaning to switch her weight from her left ankle to her right, when her boot scuffs the floor. She inhales sharply before Perfuma is looking over her shoulder and motioning her to stay quiet by placing her finger in front of her lips life if they are not careful and calculated about their every move, Catra will become spooked and attack. 

“Catra?” Perfuma’s voice lifts, “Catra, Adora’s here. Adora made it.”

_She hasn’t even looked at me. And is she really just letting Perfuma rub her back? Is she still angry that I wasn’t here and this- this is some kind of punishment?_

“You can let go now, Catra. Adora’s here. You can stop fighting this. You can just let this happen as it's meant to.”

_Does she think I abandoned her? Abandoned both of them?_

“Catra,” Adora starts before she can stop herself, “Catra, I am _so_ sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you were having contractions this morning and that I walked out because Etheria needed She Ra and I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner, I- I _knew_ something was wrong and I-”

Adora is abruptly cut off when Catra starts growling, throwing her head back to yell, “Oh _shut up,_ Adora! Just get over here and hold me!”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

There is a muscle memory in the way their bodies come together. As Catra’s back presses up against Adora’s chest, Adora’s arms come under her to hold her, to support her. For most of her second and third trimesters, Adora and Catra were adamant to practice any and every couple's birthing position they’d come across in the variety of classes they had sat through. Holding her in this way of ultimate encouragement and trust- this is something Adora could do in her sleep four months ago. Just last night before they went to bed and woke to the Surge, to this, Catra and Adora practiced for this moment. Executing this now is as simple as breathing. Adora stumbles over phrase over phrase as she kisses Catra’s jaw and her shoulders. _“I love you,”_ and _“I’m sorry, I’m here now,”_ and _“You can do this, I promise.”_

After a moment, a hand comes to clasp Adora’s, squeezing hard. Claws sink in and break skin. But Adora squeezes back as hard as she can. Second by second of a trying minute, Catra’s breathing evens out and Adora can feel the tension in her body easing until she is limp, held up only by Adora’s strength. Catra’s eyes flutter open and a smirk replaces her previous contorted expression.

“Hey Adora,” her voice is groggy, but Adora can make out the relief behind her wife’s usual greeting, “Did you really show up late and let me do all the _hard_ work?”

Laughing despite herself, Adora buries her face in Catra’s shoulders to keep her from seeing the tears in her eyes. Catra doesn’t need that right now.

“That is low, even for _you._ ” Catra laughs.

Adora squeezes her hand again, enough to leave imprints of her fingers. “You know nothing’s too low for me, Catra.”

Whether or not this means that they are okay- Adora is unsure but no longer is she uneasy. It’s a conversation for a later hour in better conditions, during lower stakes. All that matters right now is that Adora is here, she’s here for the baby and she’s here for her wife. The lecture, the let down, the guilt- that _can_ wait. She’s here for the most important part, the part that _can’t_ wait. Besides, Catra hasn’t pushed her hands away in anger or shoved Adora’s body off her. If she’s pissed with Adora, she isn’t exactly showing it and it’s not like Catra has ever been afraid to. 

Catra, her limbs shaking every so slightly, clings to her. Adora is dirt and sweat and panic, but none of that is stopping her wife from kneading her arm with one hand and crying softly into her shoulder. 

“C’mere,” Adora whispers to her. 

Gingerly, she guides the both of them to the edge of the cot and is deliberate in her movements as she lowers Catra down. Catra’s never more than several centimeters away from Adora. It’s strange- how natural and unnatural this comes to her. Adora has never quite touched Catra as if she was so fragile, not even in the bowels of Horde Prime’s ship. Compassionate, bruising, healing, consuming. Loving. That is how Adora is familiar with touching Catra. 

Well, maybe every touch has been some form, however twisted and ill intentioned, of Adora’s love for Catra. Still Adora doesn’t fight this type of touch the more Catra leans into it. Because she is one of the _only_ people given such a privilege. Because she is still discovering, after so many years, all the different and infinite ways she’s always loved Catra.

Tugging the hair tie from her own braid, Adora lets Catra resume her kneading and reaches over her head to pull her wife’s hair back. She only speaks once Catra’s new ponytail is secure. 

“Talk to me, Catra. I’m here.” Adora gets a tiny grunt of response. 

“Do you know how dilated you are?” _Or can a doula even tell that?_

Catra moves back from Adora’s shoulder and mumbles something. Adora thinks she hears the word “close” as she runs her hand down her wife’s cheek and tucks a rebellious streak of hair behind her ear.

“She’s not fully there yet,” Perfuma says, stepping into the conversation. “Based on my experience, it will be a few more hours before she’s ready to push.” 

Despite the way Catra falters with exhaustion and just about collapses into Adora’s waiting arms, there is a spark of elation in Adora’s chest. A joyous realization. _I didn’t miss all of it!_ She bears the weight of such a selfish thought and accepts the consequences gladly. So much preparation has already gone to waste. So much Adora had been ready to do for Catra. So much of this that was _supposed_ to be between the two of them, _for_ two of them- down the drain because the planet picked _today_ for one longass Surge. 

Yes, Catra is in the worst pain in possibly her entire life. Yes, more hours till pushing equals more pain. Yes, Adora would rather be tortured in the worst, most grueling ways imaginable than sit here and watch her suffer like this for one more minute- _but_. Now they have a second chance as wives and as about-to-be moms. A second chance to take those last few hours as two before they’d become three back. A second chance to do this together as a family.

_And now Glimmer has more time to find Hertha. Thank Etheria!_

“Guess she’s really taking her time,” Adora masks any inner, selfish excitement with an attempt at wit as her hand falls to Catra’s belly. Catra forces a dry laugh. Her hand finds Adora’s.

“You have _no_ idea,” she sighs.

 _I would, if you had said something._ Biting her lip, Adora holds her tongue. _Why didn’t you say anything, Catra? We’re not usually_ this _bad at communicating. I mean we have been, but that was in the past. I know I missed all the signs- but what did I do to make you so angry? And how can I fix us?_

These questions linger in her throat and form a lump. Sitting here on the edge of the cot in between a contraction is neither the place nor time to have a conversation like this- Adora thought she _just_ made peace with waiting until their daughter was born. Still, she can’t help but give into thinking this way, reasoning: _isn’t it going to be extremely challenging to have an open dialogue if we’re taking care of a newborn that’s screaming all the time? We have a few more hours before she’s here and she’ll need all of our attention. Can’t we just get the uncomfortable part over with now?_

But the tricky part is that Catra is _already_ uncomfortable.

“I’m so fucking tired, Adora,” she mutters into her shoulder and sniffles. Adora notices then that her neck is hot and moist; Catra has started crying again, “I just want some rest, _please._ ”

“I- I know, Catra. I know that this is hard and that you’re in a lot of pain-” Adora is scraping the bottom of the barrel that is encouraging statements from the massive stack of pregnancy books she devoured, “-but you’re strong enough to do this. Your _body_ is strong enough to do this.”

Catra’s only sucks in a breath; she says nothing, her strength and concentration needed beyond this light conversation. Her upper body seizes up. Her fur begins to stand on end and her tail twitches. rapidly, before sticking straight up. Adora can see despite the fact she just now got here that another contraction is about to take Catra full force and her heart skips a solid two beats as she realizes this. 

Pulling herself back from Catra so she can look her in the eye, Adora tries a different angle. Her previous one was, obviously, not enough. “Catra, you need to picture yourself on the other side of this, okay? Think about _her,_ not the pain. Catra- Catra, look at me. Look at me, please.” she makes her voice quiet, "I know you can.”

“Adora-” Catra hisses. Their foreheads knock together as Catra struggles to keep her eyes open. Adora’s hand comes to the back of her ear.

“Catra, breathe. Breathe, and just- just focus on my voice. I know that’s more than one instruction, but you can do this. Think about our daughter, our little girl, Catra, I’m _so_ excited to meet her, I can barely think of the words to get you through this.” Adora lets out a laugh as tears spill from her own eyes and Catra rolls hers, claws digging deep into Adora’s skin. “I’m doing a terrible job trying to help you, but look at you, Catra. You’ve been so strong through this entire pregnancy and I _know_ it hasn’t been easy on you, but I’m so amazed by you. Every single day. I love you _so_ much, so so so so much, Catra.” 

The ceremonial robe, too massive for her lithe frame, is slipping from Catra’s shoulders. Adora is holding her entire weight up as Catra collapses forward, but she recognizes the breathing style taught in the birthing classes coming from her when she replies, “You’re such a nerd, Adora.”

Adora laughs, “I know.”

“Keep talking,” Catra demands- _begs_ \- through gritted teeth after Adora falls into silence for a few seconds. As determined as Adora is to make up for the hours and the contractions she has missed off being She Ra, concentration eludes her like smoke slipping through her fingers. She wonders- for a second- the exact sensations Catra must be feeling at this moment. She wonders, as she watches in horror at her wife curling in on herself, how Catra managed to keep this up for so many hours. Adora can barely stand to see her like this.

But claws dig _deep_ into her flesh, and Adora snaps back to reality.

“Please Adora,” Catra says through her tears. 

“Tell me,” commands Adora without thinking. This is so unlike battlefield improvisation, but Adora doesn’t blink at the unfamiliarity for one single second. She just obeys Catra’s need unconsciously, “Can you tell me- tell me that you can see her? That you can see yourself holding her after this is all over? It’s almost over, Catra. It’s almost over. You’re so much closer to the than to- than to the start, I promise.”

Catra does her best to nod and so Adora honor effort she gives by continuing, “She’s gonna have ten fingers and ten toes and probably the loudest cry in the entire world-” Adora is smiling, and so is Catra, when a scream rips through her wife, cutting her off. Adora’s breath hitches.

Speaking of ten fingers- they are ten claws shredding the back of Adora’s uniform, but at this point in time Adora could honestly not give a damn. To the sinner goes the diatribe.

_ This was my idea, I’m the one who brought up having a baby. She’s in pain because of me and my  _ brilliant  _ ideas.  _

The rest of this ride does not last long- thank Etheria. Adora rocks Catra, stroking her back and wiping her tears, through the roughest and final parts of her contraction. She’s stopped talking; Catra didn’t ask her to keep going. Adora merely gives her wife all the time in the world to come back to her. Catra’s breathing evens, eventually, and she nuzzles her nose in the crook of Adora’s neck as she laughs.

“Ugh, I hate that you said everything I always pictured you saying,” Catra scoffs. She pulls away, running her arm under her nose. 

_ Wait,  _ Adora blinks in surprise, _ what does that mean?  _

“Yeah, well,” Joining their hands together, she finds herself saying, “I think you know me better than I might… know you.”

Catra winces.  _ Visibly  _ winces. The regret of Adora’s words is instantaneous- it's practically a fatal blow to the chest when Catra trails her hand away. 

_ Damn it! Of course I pick now of all times to say the wrong thing to her! She needs me right now and I have to go make it about my own stupid insecurities, all classic Adora! _

“I need to stand up.” whispers Catra. It’s a statement. Without asking for any help from her wife or from their substitute midwife, Catra instead turns away from and struggles to shift her weight forward, fumbles as she tries to get her bearings only to catch herself on the desk and curse a couple of times under her breath. Adora reaches out as if to take hold of her.

“Catra-” Adora and Perfuma reprimand at the same time.

“You need to take it easy, remember? You can’t exhaust all your strength before you have to start pushing.” the flower Princess reminds her and Adora watches while Catra rolls her split eyes.

“Yeah, we’re way past that.”

She’s shoving the ceremonial robe back up her shoulder by the time Adora is able to swallow the cocktail of conflicted feelings in her throat. Despite her damaged pride, Adora follows her because she  _ meant  _ it when she said no more separation. A million questions apprehend Adora’s entire body and keep her from closing the distance; she places her hands next to Catra’s on the desks surface to keep from giving into the urge to touch her. Catra is clinging to her one minute- keeping her at arm's length the next. And yeah, that’s about as Catra as Catra can be in a situation such as this one but… but Adora still feels a certain sting of failure sinking deep into her with an uncomfortable heat.

So she does what she always does when Catra’s overtly bad mood is her fault. She overcompensates.

“I know this isn’t how you pictured today going,” Adora is careful to whisper without broaching patronizing territory. 

That earns Adora a low growl. “No shit, Adora.”

“And I know that I wasn’t here before, but… I’m here now, Catra. And I’m  _ not  _ leaving you okay? I’m not leaving either of you-”

This time she is interrupted by a high pitched moan that leaves Catra like a steam whistle. Tears are streaming down her face- there seems to be no end to her sobbing and Adora panics, briefly, about the risk of dehydration- and Catra grabs Adora’s hand without even looking at her. 

Beyond the bone crushing pain- which Adora can say is well deserved- she can recognize the thought,  _ that was  _ barely  _ two minutes in between. _

Catra is saying her name, calling out for her, asking a question she does not have to finish before Adora is behind her once again and wrapping herself around her. Back to their earlier position- because Catra’s determined to stand through this. Adora’s entire heart convulses in on itself as Catra cries out again, but she busies herself stroking her Catra’s shoulder, lips ghosting the faint scar where Prime’s chipped was punctured into her central nervous system. Her words of encouragement dissolve quickly into soft apologies spurred by the way Catra’s body writhes with pain.

“I can’t believe,” Catra takes a moment to pant before resuming her growling, throwing her head back, “I let you talk me into this.”

Adora can’t help but break her apologetic tone just to scoff at that, “I offered  _ multiple  _ times-”

She doesn’t finish. Another wave tears through Catra without mercy and just seeing the contortion in her face, the tear droplets falling to Adora’s hands, the way Adora can hear it in her breathing just how  _ hard  _ she is trying to get to the other side of this- it has Adora blinking tears out of her own eyes, again.

“Catra,” her voice breaks as she leans into her wife’s frame, “I’m so sorry.” 

Sorry for what? Adora can’t specify. The birth, the Surge, them having a baby in the first place and how that idea was on her- Adora is being crushed by the weight that somehow this pain Catra is in, has been in, will be in for  _ hours  _ more, is on her. It’s  _ all  _ on her, and the only release from this heaviness is to mumble her usual cop out.

Catra’s crying starts crescendoing, Adora’s grip on her getting tighter as if to brace for her wife’s agreement and consequent anger, when she cries out, “No, Adora.” she shakes her head against Adora’s shoulder,  _ “I’m  _ sorry, okay?”

“What- Catra, I don’t understand-”

“I’m sorry,” she heaves, “for not getting you! I knew I was in labor but I kept trying- I kept trying to act like I wasn’t, because I was scared, okay? I was scared and I was in denial that she’s  _ actually  _ coming because obviously- obviously I can’t do this! I  _ can’t  _ be a mom. I can’t even give birth right!”

This statement is enough to knock the wind out of Adora, to make her stutter and shake her head in rebuttal but Catra presses forward, “I knew that if I said  _ anything  _ to you today, you’d just know- you’d know and you would do that stupid, _ annoying _ thing where you risk everything for me. And then you would get here and it would really be happening and I- I’m  _ sorry,  _ Adora. I’m sorry for today.” she’s sobbing almost violently as she finishes, leaving Adora to catch her breath and blink away her own tears.

“Catra,” Adora says her name like a quiet prayer; understanding-  _ real  _ understanding- of Catra’s fears are clicking her head, setting off a myriad of lightbulbs all in rapid succession. Why she didn’t say anything the night before. Why she kept Adora on radio silence when that was so unlike her. Why Melog had to be the one to retrieve her. How she could act so cold yet so needy at the same time. “You don’t- you don’t have  _ anything  _ to be sorry for. We didn’t have any control over when this day would happen, so how could this be your fault? I know you’re scared Catra, I’m scared too, but… there is a reason I wanted to be a mom and why I know I could be one now.”

“Your Guide?” Catra half jokes, half hisses.

“It’s you, Catra.”

When Catra curls into the crook of Adora’s neck, Adora brings her other arm around with the intention to rub her back, but this connection is almost enough for her to drown in. Catra’s claws ghost Adora’s clavicle and her next words are a whisper.

“She deserves so much better than me, Adora.”

“No, Catra. No. That’s a  _ lie _ .” Adora shakes her head, adamant and angry that Catra could ever think that about herself. A moment- a  _ feeling _ \- flashes before Adora’s eye; she’s standing before the windows looking out into the Fright Zone, her young eyes watchful,  _ hopeful,  _ of Shadow Weaver’s expression as she waited for a love beyond shallow validation that would never, ever come. “You’re going to mean  _ everything  _ to her, and that’s going to matter this time around because she means everything to you.” 

“You... you promise?”

_ “Yes,  _ Catra. I promise.”

Catra’s barely suppressed bawling turns to sniffling in the seconds that the pain leaves her body. She takes a few slow deep breaths, and then she’s leading Adora back to the cot, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. It’s not long before Melog assumes a smaller size and hops up to be next to her. Adora knows that it takes an unholy amount of energy for Catra to be vulnerable when she’s at her best; to do it on the brink of delivering their child is a feat of its own impossibility.

So how could Adora ever doubt that Catra would be  _ exactly  _ what their child deserves?

“Can you get her some water, Perfuma?” 

The Flower Princess, her expression soft, nods without comment and leaves the office.

This is how the next couple of hours will pass in light of this conversation. Catra and Adora argue during the short space between her contractions about birthing positions- Adora comes to understand that Catra insists on standing because she is petrified that her draining strength means she’s doomed to fall asleep if she  _ doesn’t make herself  _ stand, but Adora is able to coax her to abandon her stubbornness and try other positions in name of preserving that strength. 

The cot proves to be the most uncomfortable place for her, so Adora moves the blankets and pillows and places them over the towels. Catra kneels, squats, lies, always keeping one hand on Adora for support. She grits her teeth, balls her fists, buries her face in Adora’s chest, on Bow’s pillow, doing everything in her power to respond when Adora asks questions, whispers encouragement, tells her she loves her. 

Adora keeps coming back to  _ “I love you.”  _ As they lose more hours to the night and Catra cycles through contraction after contraction, Adora finds herself for the first time in her life running out of things to say to her wife. They talk in quiet tones when Catra’s body lets her rest about the day they spent apart. It can never last more than one to two and half minutes before Catra’s light hearted teasing becomes groaning and her face contorts and Adora would return to what would be a crutch- if she didn’t mean it more every time she whispered it.

Perfuma hovers. She paces the length of the office without ever inserting herself into their space or conversation. Glimmer must’ve teleported her right out of Plumeria given her tattered dress and the dirt caked on her skin. Somehow, out of everything that has transpired today and every little convenience they’re now facing, Perfuma’s presence is what Adora finds to be the most aggravating. Her eye twitches each time Perfuma comes to check on Catra and she folds her lips to keep from smirking whenever Perfuma lifts Catra’s robe up to check to see how dilated she is only to ever report, “Almost there, just keep breathing Catra.”

In the midst of her exhaustion and annoyance, Adora is tempted to give in to the familiar protective urge that has sought to control her entire life and ask Perfuma to leave. Because how much is she helping really? And where in the name of the First One’s is Glimmer with their  _ actual  _ midwife? 

_ She’s the only person we have if something goes wrong,  _ Adora tries to remind herself each time,  _ she needs to stay. _

Even if Adora can’t rate her assistance as especially helpful.

Catra’s contractions never intensify at this point in her labor, but they never waiver in intensity either and Adora finds herself at the end of her own rope. In a way, Catra’s pain has always been a part of her own, always struck her deeper than her own pain  _ ever _ could, and seeing her like this- knowing her daughter is also in a potentially compromising situation, too- without any sort of safety net is comparable to outright  _ torture _ . Combined with her rising anxiety and irritation that apparently knows no limit, it doesn’t surprise Adora in the slightest when she’s snapping at Perfuma mid contraction.

“Don’t you have  _ anything  _ you could give her for the pain?” Adora takes no pride in the bite of her words; she doesn’t hold back either. Hands gripping Catra’s shoulders as her wife pants through her contraction, Adora gestures with her head towards the tiny sack of supplies Perfuma brought with her. Isopropyl alcohol, surgical forceps, vials of dried herbs and bottles of salve, a roll of bandages, a small blue bulb Adora thinks might be a nasal aspirator. How the doula’s materials survived the stunt the Surge pulled in her kingdom- Adora has no clue. But in the context of what they have to work with, Adora  _ is  _ grateful she did not show up empty handed.

“I  _ told  _ you, Adora,” Perfuma replies, stress laced in her voice and in that moment Adora remembers she’s trying to  _ deliver a baby _ after spending hours at war with her own home. She is kneeling, brow knitted, on the other side of Catra, having pushed her legs apart for the clearest point of access. “Just because I can make the plants that could act as numbing agents doesn’t mean I can give them to her. I don’t have my mortar or pestle, for starters, and-”

“Okay I get it, Perfuma!”

Beneath Adora, Catra shudders and she lets out another low groan, her neck keening back. Although she has relaxed her stubborn grip on this whole process since their apology riddled conversation, Adora can tell in her gut that Catra’s fear only gains momentum after each contraction passes. No one in the room is saying what all three of them are thinking: Catra should be fully dilated. She should be ready to start pushing any minute now. 

This is a waiting game- and they are losing.  _ Catra  _ is losing.

Adora locks eyes with Perfuma. “Catra, I’m going to try something but I need to know you’re okay with-”

“Ugh, just  _ do it,  _ Adora.” Catra snarls, shoulders clenching in agony and that’s all the permission Adora needs before a warm, golden glow is illuminating the room, traveling from her own body into Catra’s. For a few suspended seconds, Adora taps into She Ra’s magic, She Ra’s strength, and prays she’s not making a critical mistake mixing pure energy with her child's birth.

Catra sighs. The tension that has warped her expression since Adora stepped in the room drains from her face. As she slumps further into Adora’s support, she bites back that same smirk that Adora fell in love with and laughs, her eyes still closed, “Why didn’t you try that sooner?”

“Sorry,” Adora releases the magic as simple as opening her fist. “I guess-”  _ I guess I was so busy freaking out and trying to figure out why you were so upset at me I didn’t even think of it,  _ “I should’ve thought of it sooner. I’m sorry I kinda dropped the ball on that one.”

_ I’m supposed to the person who gets you through this. And I can’t even do that well, not really. _

“No,” Catra shakes her head, “no more apologies. Okay, Adora?” 

She opens her split eyes, gazing into Adora with a renewed vitality and determination. It’s awe inspiring- Catra is awe inspiring. Proving again here in her arms, that she is  _ the definition _ of strength. 

Adora on the other hand? Adora could  _ kick  _ herself for being so stupid- how could she spend Catra’s  _ entire  _ pregnancy ruminating heavily on the idea that her responsibility as She Ra would tear her expanding family apart and then forget she has  _ healing powers?  _ Yeah, it’s been a long day and she’s running low on brain power as well as energy but  _ come on.  _ Isn’t the whole baby brain stage supposed to happen  _ after  _ the delivery?

Catra’s hand comes to her cheek, “Don’t worry. I still love you, even if you are an idiot.”

Scoffing the smile off her face, Adora brushes back her bangs and kisses her forehead.

She Ra’s magic must be what kicks in Catra’s second wind of energy- the one Adora always read about and highlighted in the childbirth section of her parenting books and scrolls on pregnancy. With the magic flowing through her, sustaining her, Catra’s breathing becomes easier, more even, more purposeful. Her head stops falling backwards, her eyes stop rolling up in her head, the weight of her exhaustion no longer holding her back. There is a focus in the flexing of her muscles that gives Adora an optimism- a reckless optimism really- that Catra is going to make it to the end of this. That their baby is just taking her time and is not breached, depleted of oxygen, or trapped helplessly in her own umbilical cord. Adora (or She Ra) bought them time; now Catra’s strength is going to keep her going until Glimmer can get here with Hertha.

They are going to get to the other side of this in one piece, Adora is  _ sure  _ of it.

Until Catra’s next announcement  _ shatters  _ this newfound faith into a million pieces.

“Perfuma?” she asks for the Flower princess/doula through grit teeth, “I think- I think it’s time.”

“Time? Time for what?” Adora’s strained grip on her internal panic snaps before she catches the glint Melog’s knowing eyes, sees the look passed between Perfuma and Catra, and it dawns on her like a pile of bricks just dropped on her from the ceiling. She’s moving before she is thinking or protesting, her support of Catra never faltering as she follows her to a half squat position- the same birthing position Catra decided on as the one she’d be the most comfortable to deliver in. Deliver,  _ deliver  _ in.

Giving Catra a curt nod, Perfuma straightens her back and pushes the sleeves of her dress further up. “You’re listening to your body, Catra. I told you it would know what to do!”

“Catra,” Adora can’t believe a single word she’s hearing- or every implication she’s  _ not  _ hearing, “Catra, no! Glimmer- she said she’d keep looking for Hertha, you can’t- we can’t- Catra, something could go wrong! Something could go wrong and I wouldn’t know how to help you, either of you! I’m not, I could- ” Adora doesn’t say the last part. Adora doesn’t say,  _ I could lose you both. I  _ can’t  _ lose you both, I can’t lose either of you.  _ Not before Catra grabs her by the shoulder and digs her claws in.

“Adora,” Catra growls her name. Her entire body is shaking- she’s at the mercy of  _ another  _ contraction withdrawing from her body- and the miniscule movements of her unsteady fingers travel into Adora’s skin. Adora shakes her head in panicked desperation; by now her braid has come completely undone and stray locks of her hair block her view of her wife.

“We just need to give Glimmer a little more  _ time _ , Catra-”

“No, Adora. This is happening now _.  _ There  _ isn’t  _ any more time. Adora, I can’t  _ do this  _ any longer.” her breath catches and her gaze falters, but not before Adora sees the utter exhaustion in her split eyes. “Please, Adora. For the first time all day, I’m ready for the last part. But I-I need you.”

“I-” Adora closes her mouth and turns her gaze away.

How is Adora supposed to say no to that? There is no saying no to that. No contrived excuse Adora’s anxiety can muster, no justification based on Catra’s safety or the baby’s safety. No more time to wait around for that one last epiphany to rear its head, that gut feeling in her stomach that she is just as ready as that look in Catra’s eyes to be a mom.

She must say everything she’s thinking in the long stretch of silence she leaves- because it is Catra who picks up where Adora leaves off.

“Adora, it’s okay. You’re here. I’m ready,” Catra’s voice is soft, her fingers trailing the lines of worry in Adora’s expression, smoothing them out like creases in paper. Not locked in the firm grasp of an active contraction at the moment, a purr seeps through Catra’s chest and sends a wave of warmth through Adora’s rapidly beating heart.

A laugh slips from Adora’s lips and her hand finds Catra’s. “I’m the one who’s supposed to comfort you through this.”

“You are, dummy.” Catra chuckles- than winces. Adora’s hands come up without thinking to Catra’s arms to keep her from collapsing. “But comfort me through the last of it, okay? I wanna meet our kid.”

“Okay.” Adora breathes out. Because there’s no point in arguing with a statement Adora so deeply agrees with.

Their daughter.  _ She’s almost here,  _ Adora realizes- remembers- and that simple thought is enough to swirl her violent emotions and color the streaks of fear with giddiness, anticipation. Wonder. Catra must be thinking it, feeling it, too; she looks back into Adora’s eyes, that start of an excited grin on her face, and there is that same fear, that same wonder dancing in her split irises. 

Such wonder could never be found in obsessive preparation or in apprehension, in which a lifetime of self-inflicted disappointment hides behind. This is the kind of wonder that is found and is held in hope and the belief that Catra and Adora have slowly built  _ together _ , moment by moment, over the last ten years: it is okay to hope, it is okay to  _ want  _ and to hold that hope high, for not everything is a spelled out disaster waiting to crush those very expectations. More often than not, the words “it’s going to be okay,” turn out to be the truth waiting on the other side. And sometimes, those once in twenty lifetimes sometimes, those expectations unfold into unprecedented miracles. Like when Adora kept that unyielding love for her best friend behind a locked door only for Catra to come kick it down.

And like right now, as Adora suspends her disbelief in her ability to be a mom and admits to herself that she wants this more than she is scared of it.

When Catra’s next contraction washes over her muscles with the wrathful force of a tsunami, her forced inhaling and exhaled panting ringing Adora’s ears, the minutes blur together as if they were all trapped in some distant reverie. Adora pivots her feet until she is behind Catra and keeping her body upright, her legs spread out and knees quivering. Catra, impatient in her pain as she is ready, barks Perfuma’s name and their substitute doula/last resort midwife startles.

“Yes, right, okay.” Perfuma takes a deep breath and assumes a look of determination. “I’m going to start counting to ten and for those ten counts, push as  _ hard  _ as you can Catra-”

“Ugh, just start counting already! I want this baby  _ out of me! _ ” her words echo off every surface in the office.

“One… two… three…”

Adora watches. Adora watches and waits and holds Catra; she keeps her hips balanced, her elbows from knocking, her knees steady. As the first round of seconds turns to two rounds, then three, then four of what becomes a quickly established pattern, Adora listens to Perfuma count, feeling the rippling of Catra’s muscles underneath her finger tips. Adora then returns to her early base of  _ “I love you,”  _ whispering, emphasizing whatever cliche encouragements pop in her head and hoping they are exactly what her wife needs to hear. 

Her words can’t be inflicting  _ more  _ pain at this point; in fact, Catra responds, almost eagerly, to them. Her ears flicker each time Adora opens her mouth and her strength comes back in renewed vigor after what might be the shortest two minutes in the entire universe between each contraction. Seeing her strength, her  _ unwavering  _ resilience, Adora is able to muster up her own remaining scraps of courage and push past her own wall of nerves as present in the world as possible with her wife. There is  _ nothing  _ in the known galaxy that matters more to Adora right now than Catra.

“Six...seven… eight…”

“Catra, you’ve got this,” Adora speaks over Perfuma and Catra lets out a ragged breath dripping with disdain. How much time has actually passed since Catra started pushing, how many times Perfuma has counted to ten are lost on Adora; she knows there is a copious amount of sweat running down her back and the stinging ache of exhaustion behind her eyes and that Perfuma has counted enough times for Adora to stiffen her muscles and keep her ankles lifted. 

“Nine… ten… Now relax Catra. Try- try and take a few deep breaths.” 

_ She has to be crowning soon, she has to be.  _

Perfuma has a clean towel bunched in the free hand she keeps resting by Catra’s knee. Adora decides to take this as a good sign.

Another contraction. Another ten seconds of pushing, a small break for Catra to catch what little breath she can, another ten seconds. And then another. Another.  _ Another. _

“You’ve come this far, Catra. You’re so close to meeting her and holding her. Just hang on a little longer.”

There is a small mewl of agreement from Melog before Perfuma begins again. Adora buries her face in Catra’s neck, heart crumbling at the thought, _how much more of this can Catra take? Eternia,_ _how many times have I asked myself that?_

“One… two…”

“Catra, you are  _ so much stronger _ than this.” Adora is not sure when her voice took a turn for unabashed and  _ desperate _ . “You’re stronger than the pain you’re in-”

Catra cuts her off with a hoarse scream.

“Five… six… seven…”

“And you have  _ no  _ idea what you mean to me because I can never really say it or- or do it justice, but you and our daughter- you’re the most important things in the world to me. In the  _ universe. _ ” 

Grunting, Catra’s claws dig deeper into Adora’s hand. Her eyes are clamped shut and her whole body is shaking, quivering, as if she is no longer just combating the pain of a contraction but an energy that is as pure as it is raw. The energy of something new; Adora feels it like it is some type of magic akin to She Ra, but heavier and more heavenly, and it sinks past her skin and knocks against bone.

“I’ve always loved you, Catra. I’ve always been amazed by you, I-”

This time when Adora is interrupted, it’s not by Catra gasping as her chest convulses, or sobbing as the pain reaches its peak, or holding back nothing in her screams, but by Perfuma drawing her breath in. “I see the head, Adora. She’s crowning!”

“She is?” Adora’s jaw drops, her tongue catching the taste of salt as tears run down her face. If she were not the only force keeping her wife from completely collapsing, Adora thinks she might cave in from a kind of untouchable relief. Her shoulders drop the weight of the world as they roll back; it takes everything in her not to jump and start screaming her thanks to the Stars.

Perfuma nods, a smile that almost matches Adora’s blooming on her face. “You’re almost there, Catra. Just rest for a few moments. Gravity will-”

“No!” Catra, eyes flying open, jerks against Adora. “We’re doing this- now! Trust me, she’s  _ ready. _ ” she’s quick to add when the Princess continues to gape and blink at her.

Opening the bath towel, the closest and cleanest piece of fabric in the room to a receiving blanket ( _ Bow doesn’t happen to have any of those he embroidered lying around the Command Center, right?) _ Perfuma gives her last bit of instruction. “Then, I guess, one more big push?”

She starts counting again. 

“One…”

Adora’s heart, she reckons, has never beat this fast in her entire life. The sound chokes out any other as it fills her entire head but she listens. Adora listens for  _ that  _ noise. The same one they’ve awaited for thirty eight weeks. 

“Catra,”

“Two...three…”

Her own hands shake- from anticipation, exhaustion, readiness, dread, from feeling this new energy- as she presses her palms against Catra’s arms and whispers, “You can do this, Catra.”

“Four...five...six…Keep going!”

“I  _ know  _ you can. I  _ know  _ you are strong enough.”

“Seven...eight...nine...ten…”

“I love you  _ so  _ much, Catra.”

Catra’s scream crescendos as every muscle in her body flexes. And then-

And then.

That energy- that new, unfamiliar,  _ magical  _ energy-  _ bursts  _ tenfold. A shrill and high pitched warbling unlike any other cry Adora has ever heard before takes every molecule in the atmosphere and changes it, morphes it for the better as  _ she  _ takes her first breaths in this new strange world that is so different from the safe haven that was her mother’s. Adora feels the sticky heat of tears following down her face. 

_ She  _ is here.  _ She  _ is breathing, her crying only getting stronger as Perfuma gently wraps the towel around her tiny form.

_ She’s  _ so  _ small,  _ is Adora’s first and more prevalent thought. It rings with awe, with joy and Adora does not dare take her eyes away from the infant, too afraid to blink and find none of this was ever real.

Catra then whispers in her ear, “Go.” Adora does not need to be told twice. She’s moving on her ankles and holding her hands out, breathing deeply despite her excitement to keep them from shaking.

It’s surreal, the warmth that fills her when Perfuma lays her daughter in her arms.  _ She  _ is warm- Adora notices that right away. She’s warm and small and red and  _ covered  _ in fluid from the birthing canal, throwing her arms and legs around as her cries become louder and stronger. A symphony of frustrated protests.  _ “I’m here! I’m here!”  _ She really is.

“Hi kitten,” Adora can barely keep on choking on her own words. Because she’s here and she is  _ everything  _ already.

That high pitched shrieking that any conceivable melody would be smart to envy doesn’t stop or lessen as Adora, careful not to the still attached umbilical cord, brings her to Catra. Revenant is her touch as Adora lies their squirming, furious daughter against her mother’s bare chest and the baby hiccups, her screaming growing almost softer at the touch. 

Catra is- Catra is sobbing. She is sobbing out of relief and in heartfelt amazement or maybe fear or maybe disbelief. She takes a still trembling hand and with Adora’s support, cups their daughter’s little head in her hand, bringing her forehead down to meet their wailing infant. Really meet her, for the first time. 

“Hey kiddo,” she laughs past her sobs. Bringing her hand up, claws now carefully sheathed, Catra reaches for their daughter's hand and the baby grabs her finger. 

_ Our daughter's first reflex. _

Then, Catra is laying her head in the crook of Adora’s neck, her finger tight in their daughter’s determined grip. She never stops crying, never stops shaking, even as their baby’s cries begin to taper off.

“You did so good, Catra.” Adora tells her, bringing her closer until there can be no negative space between them. She reaches out to wrap her hand around the little bundle in the bath towel and lets the tears fall down her cheeks, “You both did  _ so good _ .”


	7. i've loved you for all of my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But now Catra could recognize this moment for what it was worth: a clean slate. A chance to do things differently. Better. It was all in her daughter's name.
> 
> _
> 
> This is the end. But it's also the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I hope you don’t hate the name I chose. 
> 
> I just want to say one more time that this kid is not Finn. I had this kid all planned out in my head before Noelle and Molly came up with Finn, so I hope I’m not letting anyone down by taking a completely different route.
> 
> Little warning here for blood. It’s mild, but you know, it is there.

**_The Whispering Woods Cottage; Two Weeks and One Day_ **

Catra thought she would feel different. Or at least- _differently._

She didn’t. Not in any way that was noticeable or even novice, rather as she stood in the center of the house’s- _her home’s-_ spare bedroom Catra realized everything about her was exactly the same.

Or _felt_ the same, if it was worth specifying. Adora would probably argue that it was. 

Because the results on the tablet the assistant sorcerer working the desk at the Mystacore clinic thrust into her waiting, shaking hands said that were something _monumentally_ different about her and her body- a detail of life changing proportions that wasn’t there during her last visit to the clinic fourteen days ago.

“So,” her words clipped, Catra spoke to no one in particular, “I guess I’m actually… pregnant?”

Of course the empty room didn’t, couldn’t, give her a response. And maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was better to have just one quiet moment to herself so that let the truth sink in so that maybe- maybe it would start to _feel_ real. Even if nothing about her felt off or strange or different. 

So badly had Catra wanted to hear those words, _say_ those words, see a flashing _“Positive”_ on the tablet’s screen there in that waiting room that she hadn’t put more than a couple minutes of thought to what she would do or what she would feel when the words “I’m pregnant” would be indicative of reality. That “when” had been an “if” for so long and Catra… Catra had been afraid to imagine what this moment _would_ actually feel like. 

Imagining this moment meant _hoping_ for this moment and hope was a double edged sword, the scathing edge of which had left too many scars along Catra’s back (and neck and well, her whole body really). Hope meant there was a looming potential for disappointment. Hoping meant letting her guard down in exchange for raising her expectations and thus letting said disappointment wreak that much more havoc on her emotions. And Catra didn’t want that- that feeling of heaviness _burning_ her up from the inside as it turned her into solid and unbreakable stone. Not when it came to being a new mom.

Catra wanted- well Catra wanted more than anything to succeed at this. Catra wanted to honor the trust her wife had given her by allowing her this chance to _create_ instead of just destroy, even if Adora was a stubborn ass about her relative history of destruction. Catra never did put into words the almost selfish _want_ to be the one to carry their child, to _create_ their child; Fae pushed her to be as open as possible for the sake of their relationship and to tell Adora _that_ part of it, but Catra never had to. Because Adora never failed to say how much she _did not care_ who was the one to bring their child into the world. Adora had just latched her determination and godlike concentration onto the idea and the desire to expand their family, that for once in her life, assuming sole responsibility was not her first priority.

But then again, Adora never failed to offer herself in Catra’s place whenever they were talking about having a baby, researching conceiving, or walking hand in hand into the clinic for that fateful appointment, either.

 _Old habits die hard. And_ I’m _proof that Adora’s habits don’t really die at all._

All of Catra’s focus, all of Catra’s energy, all of Catra’s thoughts went into succeeding, in making sure she actually got pregnant that it was nothing to let her fears about succeeding linger in the back of her mind and enjoy their old haunts. Yet at the same time, Catra had been _so_ focused on succeeding that every act- insignificant or just the opposite- to keep her going in the right direction blurred together even as she tried to reach out and touch those memories right now. 

Had she really spent a month and a half prepping her body for the conception spell? Catra smirked in remembrance. You’d think Catra would have more than half a recollection of keeping to Adora’s (and the clinician’s head sorceress’s but mostly Adora’s) strict regimen of hormone injections and patches, antibiotics, vitamins, and low dose aspirin. When _wasn’t_ she poking or pricking herself with watchful blue eyes staring her down and failing so endearingly to be inconspicuous from the other side of the table? _Was_ there a meal where Catra wasn’t downing some pill that left a taste in her mouth that was somehow both metallic and sour? 

And had Catra really run out of a meeting concerning a settlement dispute between kingdoms (without so much as a “Heads up, here’s what’s happening.”) just to burst through the door of her and Adora’s shared office, fur standing on end and yelling crazed and frantic at her wife because she was dead certain they’d forgotten one of the million shots Adora helped her with every morning? That happened, right?

 _Yeah,_ Catra exhaled through her nose, _that’s why it’s hard for me to remember. I was so busy trying not to “elevate my stress levels” it’s like I was running on autopilot the entire fucking time._

For the spell to work, for it to _successfully_ alter her biology, Sorceress Honey stressed that it was imperative more than anything that Catra avoid the familiar heightened state like it was a contagion- both during the weeks leading up to the conjuration and the following two weeks after. Ideally, the whole pregnancy but what would they accomplish by jinxing it? The head of the Mystacore Clinic gave her this piece of crucial instruction as if it was the easiest to accomplish when in fact it proved to be the most difficult of all that was expected of her- far more than _actually getting pregnant._ Catra swore that _that_ was the moment relaxing went out the window with no intention to ever return. 

Speaking of jinxing it.

Okay, it’s not like Catra didn’t give it her all. She did _try._ She was _still_ trying- since staying pregnant apparently was riding on that. Keeping a level head was much closer to the center of her concentration than keeping up with the injections and the pills and tracking her menstrual cycle. (Catra knew who she married; she knew the medical portion could fall on her mental backburner and yet she wouldn’t slip.) Succeeding at this- being a mom- was something drastically more important than Catra was willing to voice to anyone but Adora or Melog, so she wasn’t about to start fucking around and flounder this once in a life time opportunity by leaving _a single thing_ to chance. For the first time in her life, really, Catra listened to each direction she was given and did her best to follow through. No putting her spin on it because she knew it’d be much more damn effective this time around. 

Sparring, and any type of combative or active exercise, Catra traded in for more restorative and gentle yoga practices under Perfuma’s canopy. One session with her Guide every two weeks turned into once a week, and then twice a week. Hours Adora spent out of their office in the field or in meetings, Catra would lock the door and dim the lights, let Melog lie against her back, and made herself meditate. Her wife’s soft snoring became the whitenoise Catra listened to as she took deep breath after deep breath until sleep finally took her. Every spare canvas that had piled up in the cottage over the years turned into portraits of the simmering dread and worry that lay beneath Catra’s skin, bubbling like magma under a ready to erupt volcano.

 _“It’s like I’m trying to wrestle a fire Elemental with my bare hands,”_ Catra confided to Adora late one night as her wife wiped down the set of syringes with a cloth drenched in alcohol. The smell had almost burnt up Catra’s finest, most acute sense- hence why that particular job had fallen to her wife. _“Everything is dependent on me_ not _being stressed but I swear on Eternia, I’ve never been this stressed in my life!”_

Adora just smiled at her. That heart-skip-a-beat, oh-so- _that’s_ -how-I-fell-so-hard-for-you smile and the pressure in Catra’s shoulders melted away for a solid second. She even found herself smiling as her wife took her hand and intertwined their fingers. 

_“Hmm,”_ Adora tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, _“Maybe you were the better pick of the two of us, afterall.”_

 _“Well duh,”_ Catra rolled her eyes, ears lying against her head at Adora’s chuckle. The sound squeezed her heart and threatened never to let go. And hey, Catra was fine with that.

Her wife chose to not to expand on their banter while she busied herself putting back the syringes and assortment of vials back into the kit the Clinic had issued a month prior. Instead Catra listened to the sound of her foot bouncing on the ground, flexing her muscles to chase away the soreness each of these nights brought. When Adora came back to her, her ponytail was down, allowing her overgrown bangs to get in the way of Catra’s favorite view- her wife’s face. Catra found her hand moving of its own accord as she brushed away the straw locks. One of these days the two were going to have to squeeze in the time for Catra to take a pair of scissors to Adora’s hair and clean it up. 

_“You’re talking to me about it,”_ mused Adora, hand coming up to Catra’s wrist, _“That’s something, right?”_

Catra, preoccupied at the moment with tracing each and every freckle on her wife’s cheek, shrugged. _“Who else would I talk to? Do you know any other headcases that are experts at being stressed out all the time?”_

_“Not one that could stand you long enough to be married to you.”_

Hand abandoning her gentle caress, Catra shoved a giggling Adora in the shoulder, swallowing a bout of laughter herself and deciding to enjoy the sight for everything it was. _Her_ literal everything.

And therein lies Catra’s answer: there was no one else on this planet, or anywhere in this galaxy for that matter, that Catra would rather be talking to about this anyway. (Would rather be talking to at all.) None of them knew Catra in that same “like the back of my hand” way Adora had never been able to shake. No one else understood the way her wife did that Catra would rather have teeth pulled than open up like this- hence the added humor that eased the wariness in Catra’s chest that hung around even after all these years. Whether Adora claimed expertise in coping with anxiety that never wavered wasn’t really why Catra chose to indulge her stress self-fulfilling prophecy. It was more that 1) without Adora to talk to every night Catra would bet money her head would explode, baby making or no baby making and 2) in the midst of her bad jokes and heart stopping smile, Adora kept Catra calm. Calm in the exact way that allowed Catra to deal with foreign ambassadors that refused to meet with her because she “wasn’t a man” or cope with a Princess going through her files and messing up her entire organization system or stay sane long enough to conceive a child. 

_Their_ child.

If Catra was going to spend the next forty or so weeks pregnant with a growing, squirming _person_ \- Catra was beyond glad, ecstatic even, that it would be with _her and Adora’s_ growing, squirming person.

 _“You know Perfuma says this is the easiest part.”_ Adora met her eyes after the rest of her laughter died down.

Catra scoffed, _“Ugh, great. Then I don’t even want to know what’s hard.”_

She didn’t bother adding anything about just how brutal and _disappointing_ it was going to be if and when this whole ordeal failed. Failed when Catra couldn’t get pregnant. Failed when Catra couldn’t get the fetus to term. No, she couldn’t _wait_ for that to be her fault, _not at all._

_“Did she- has Perfuma finally put the pieces together about why you have all these baby related questions?”_

_“I think she’s too exhausted with Ren up most of the night to figure out why I keep asking. So you can relax about anyone knowing before we actually, you know.”_ Adora gestured to Catra’s abdomen.

_“You should see Scorpia. She could barely keep her eyes open the last time she came to the Embassy… are we sure we want to do this?”_

The corner of Adora’s mouth turned upwards, but if she had a comeback lined up she didn’t bother letting Catra in on what it was. Catra bit into her lip, waiting. Wanting. Adora had that “so deep in thought she was pretty much lost in it” look in her eyes and it was a solid minute before she bothered to speak.

 _“Catra, it’s not a big deal if it doesn’t work the first time. You know that, right? The Clinic said it might take a few tries, f-for reasons that aren’t your fault either. It took Perfuma and Scorpia three times before the spell took.”_ Adora squeezed her hand. Oh, so they were going _there_ tonight.

Arguments along the lines of “but I _want_ it to work the first time,” and “oh yeah, ‘cause I _totally_ want to do another round of daily shots and disgusting supplements and tracking my cycle religiously,” fell flat in the moment, leaving Catra to settle with, _“Yeah. I know.”_

Adora would be all ears for those arguments later without a doubt and so Catra was willing and able to drop that night.

And then _it had worked_ on the first try. Despite the one or two missed injections and the explosion waiting to happen that had become Catra’s nerves and the fact that this was their _first_ attempt at the spell, Catra was for better or worse, with child. (However weird _that_ phrase was; she kept reading it in _almost every single one_ of George and Lance’s books). Despite the hope equals impending disappointment associations leftover from her childhood, Catra now stood in the only empty room of her home wrestling with the notion she hadn’t royally fucked this up. It wasn’t like Catra would be wanting for opportunities to mess it up down the road; still, she wanted to revel in this victory, this conquering, of getting over those first hurdles. The so-called easiest part.

Catra hadn’t ruined this initiative in the month and a half of preparation before. She hadn’t made some dire error as she lay fidgeting on the exam table fourteen days ago, wondering where the techs were holding up Adora and what must be happening to her. Sure, she’d _read_ about the process. She and Adora- they’d read about it over and over and over again. Catra knew this was the part that they _had_ to be separated during. 

But reaching out to Adora was inevitable, an unconscious act she willingly participated in when Honey’s little ensemble of over eager techs and interns (because _“Look! It’s actually She Ra!”_ Like Catra wasn’t used to _that.)_ took her wife into an exam room of her own. Catra had lain on the cold slate and tried to focus on Adora in hopes that it would distract her from what was really at stake. What was really about to change in her all in the name of their assuredly normal desire to expand their family. 

When Honey and her trail of techs came back into the room Catra kept her mind on Adora- because that _was_ Catra’s bigger picture really- the entire time. As her fur stuck up like static from the thick coating of magic brewing in the air, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to keep the frenzied movements of her tail to a minimum so no one in the room would get wise to her nerves. 

_This isn’t Horde Prime’s ship,_ Catra must’ve told herself a thousand times until it was _Adora’s_ voice saying it to her on loop, _you’re safe. No one here wants to hurt you, no one here needs to. This isn’t Horde Prime, this isn’t his clones swarming around you. You're safe. I’m safe… I should’ve fought harder for Melog to come._

Catra opened her eyes again to find that not only was she safe in the brightly lit yet palpably warm exam room- but that it was over. Just like that. The spell was over and finished. Sorceress Honey informed Catra, tone calm and confident, of the adjustments to make that she and Adora would need to make to her daily regimen for the next fourteen days and to come back in then for the results of their little glamour trick. 

_“Behave as_ if _you are pregnant. That will ensure the best outcome, regardless of the results of the spell.”_ the sorceress had instructed. 

Walking out into a daze, Catra made no effort to disengage her zombie-esque autopilot whenever Adora showed back up at her side, or during the next two weeks for that matter. 

And in those next two weeks, those _grueling_ fourteen days, Catra paid more attention to her body- the sonarlike, bordering on obsessive type of attention she was best known for- than she’d ever bothered to give in her entire life. Watching, waiting, _listening_ for even the smallest, most infinitesimal sign that the spell took and that she succeeded. (Ugh, no wonder her work was as sloppy as it had been and Adora needed to triple check every form Catra reviewed just to make sure the right date and signature was on it.)

If Adora sometimes caught Catra cupping her breasts in the moments in between or standing topless in front of the mirror in their bedroom- her wife didn’t mention it. If any of the soldiers reporting to Catra by the hour found her staring off into oblivion because for a _split second_ Catra thought she might have felt nauseous- they didn’t say anything. Catra, used to priding herself on her ability to wait and stalk her prey, was an impatient fuse waiting to blow. And _that_ did not go unnoticed.

 _“Catra, you have to stop, you’re driving yourself crazy-”_ Adora pushed Catra off her one night when Catra couldn’t even concentrate on the pin she trapped Adora under in the desperate attempt to take her mind off her body by making out with her wife on their couch, _“-you’re driving_ me _crazy. Please, Catra, this isn’t good for you.”_

 _"I just_ want _to be good at this, Adora! I want to be a good mom but I don’t- I don’t feel any different!”_ Catra held back tears that in the moment, she thought nothing of. It never occurred to her that her ramp up in erratic behavior was _because of_ the new tenant in her uterus and not the other way around. Of course her focus came back to bite her in the ass; at least she could see _that_ clearly now.

Adora took her by the hands and looked her straight in the eye, _“I know, Catra and- and you will be. But it’s too early to tell anything at this point. We won’t know until we go back to Mystacore and that’s_ okay _. All the books say you’re not going to feel anything for a while anyway, so_ please, _Catra. You have to breathe, you have to be patient. For me, please?”_

Catra remembered stopping herself in that moment with the brightest blue of Adora’s eyes boring into her and thinking to herself, _if I can’t get through two weeks, how on Eternia am I supposed to get through forty- and get through them pregnant?_

She surrendered that night; Catra let Adora take her in her arms and lie with her on the couch as she pouted up a storm and lost her senses in her wife’s familiar scent because of another thought just as unapologetic and merciless, _Adora is trusting me to do this. I have to trust her._

And now that first round of waiting was over. Now the second round of this waiting game had begun; it would be somewhere between nine to ten months before it was over. Somewhere in that period of time, Catra was _going_ to start feeling different, feeling _differently,_ as her body did not just register the pregnancy, but began to actively participate in it. Maybe she would get to then, too. 

_Etheria almighty, that better be soon. I_ hope _that’s soon._

“This is gonna be your room, kiddo.” Catra spoke through the lump in her throat. The balling of her fists and the quivering of her lips was the first time since getting back from Mystacore that Catra had been consumed by emotion. The revelation that this was _real,_ that this was her doing, and that this was the opposite of destruction she thought she was always destined for. 

Adora- Adora had been the epitome of shock and utter joy at the positive result, shaking Catra’s arm so hard she fell out of her stunned stupor, saying over and over as her voice rang with wonder, _“We did it! You did it! Catra, we’re going to have a baby!”_

And because at the end of the day, Adora’s happiness was _Catra’s_ happiness, Catra was content to stay in autopilot and watch her wife be consumed by the validation that all her hard work and research had paid off. That she’d literally and metaphorically put her hopes of being of mom into Catra and was right to do so. The entire way back as the two rode on Swift Wind, Adora’s grip not crushing her hips for once but holding them with reverence, Adora’s whole body vibrated with happiness as she talked baby names and the possible building of cribs in the future. 

Catra let her have it. After watching _years_ of Adora grit her teeth through heart stopping waves of never ending hurt (after being the cause of most of it) Catra had long lost herself in love at this so wanted change of pace. When they landed in the yard of their cottage Adora must’ve gotten wise to what Catra was doing, because she fell quiet and kissed her on the cheek and told her to come find her for dinner later. The way Catra’s heart had swelled with love for Adora over that single gesture- Adora should’ve known that wouldn’t be good for the baby _they now knew_ she was carrying.

In the absence of her wife’s joy, Catra had walked into the empty room in a daze, coddling the hope she’d have her life changing epiphany over getting pregnant in her baby’s future nursery like the fragile flame of a candle. Physically, yes, Catra felt no different. And yet, she knew in the corners of her mind that _everything_ was going to be different now. Because,

“This will be your room and I’m… gonna be your mom.” 

She bit back the urge to add “I hope that’s okay.” Talk about a total cop out. It’s just, Catra didn’t want her child knowing her true cowardly nature until they were old enough to understand the excuses she threw out in droves to cover said nature up. 

Catra did say, because she found her heart beating too fast and her eyes pricking with tears as _pure emotion_ overcame her survivalist detachment, “And I think I’m really excited to be your mom, and that’s- that’s why I’ve been acting like an insane person this whole time. I can’t wait- to see you, to meet you. I know you need to take your time and all and that I need to be patient, but I want you to know,” she took a deep breath, “I’ll be waiting, okay? I’ll be patient and wait as long as I have to because you’re worth it, but I need you to know that you’re wanted. More than anything in the entire world, me and Adora, we _want_ you.”

It struck her then- the _enormity_ of what Catra was asking of a person yet to even be made. The world she was bringing a child to in, yes, she’d fought for years and worked her ass off to make it safe, but it was still, in _so many ways,_ dangerous and cruel and indifferent in that cruelty. The world was _always_ going to be dangerous; there were always going to be shadows that lurked in every corner not even a good parent could protect their child from. 

Catra breathed out through her nose. Therein lay the epiphany she’d been waiting for. 

Placing both hands on her unchanged abdomen, Catra told that fetus of unnoticeable yet shattering importance in a whisper, “I promise, kiddo, I am _always_ going to protect you. No matter what, I’ve got you.”

_

**_The Spare Diplomat's Office, Second Floor of the Grayskull Embassy; Day One_ **

“I know I’ve said this like, a hundred times, but I have to say it again- she’s perfect. She’s absolutely perfect.”

“Please, like I’m going to object to you telling me what a good job I did.”

“Well, she is  _ both  _ of us.”

“Yeah,” Catra’s own voice rings in her ears as she turns away from her wife, her smile now exhausting the already tired muscles of her cheeks, to look back down at the bundle of new life snuggled up safely against her chest. She shifts her weight against Adora to bring her hand, her still shaking fingers, through the tuft of hair on her daughter’s precious little head. Catra swallows the burning fear that has accompanied every time she’s touched her newborn; no, nothing- and she means  _ nothing _ \- is taking these first moments away from Catra. Not even the shadows that lurk, hungry, in the corners of the room. “She is.”

The baby stirs against her chest and Catra is convinced, in those brief seconds, that she’s going to start outright bawling again. Between her inability to stop sobbing throughout the last hours of her labor and delivery, and then her first beguiled and somewhat embarrassing attempt at breastfeeding while waiting to pass the placenta, Catra doubts she has the fluids to cry anymore. But the urge seizes her nonetheless. 

She pushes past it. With more important things worthy of Catra’s attention right now, it isn’t hard to break herself free of the simmering in the back of her throat and focus on a different sensation: warmth. There is an indescribable  _ warmth  _ flowing through Catra freely as her little one wriggles, her lips parting and her nose twitching just the slightest. Her tiny balled fist opens to dig into Catra’s chest and to anchor herself in a familiar scent. Watching her little movements, Catra wants to lose herself in the warmth of it all and never,  _ ever  _ let this moment go. 

Adora is right. In spite of the never ending list of flaws that hold her mothers hostage and sometimes go as far as to define them, their daughter is perfect.  _ Absolutely  _ perfect. And for that reason, along an infinite list of others, Catra can say with confidence that the  _ twenty three hours  _ it took to give birth to her were all that more worth it. 

7 pounds,  _ exactly,  _ and nineteen inches. That’s how big- or relatively- small their daughter is. That is how much space she takes up. Catra has been told that she delivered her daughter only a minute before midnight, putting the total length of delivery at twenty three hours and fifty three minutes, and that the last dregs of the Surge that marked her birthday dried up a quarter of an hour later. The one and  _ only  _ Surge of Etheria’s magic, already significant for a number of reasons, to last beyond sundown. 

_ “Do you still wanna go with the name we chose?”  _ Adora asked around the same time the rain clouds over the old Fright Zone would’ve been broken up by a brilliant starlight. Catra had been, by medical definition, still in labor at the time even with their baby nestling in her arms and fussing for her first taste of food beyond the womb. The anxiety that was gaining fast momentum in Catra that she was  _ actually going to have to feed this kid  _ in a few minutes without a drop of assistance from their still missing midwife was put on hold by the softness of Adora’s voice. 

Right. Her name.

After being the one to cut and clamp their baby’s umbilical cord when Perfuma’s trembling hands wouldn’t permit her to, Adora had done her best to set up a makeshift bed out of the pillows and blankets on the floor for Catra to be comfortable enough during the last stage of her labor; Catra elected to move herself there, undeterred by the way all of her limbs were on the verge of collapse and a pancake of blood chunks was soon to be coming out of her. Melog was the only reason she did not collapse from an exhaustion so deep and so unlike anything that had ever afflicted her before. 

Her baby, caked in amniotic fluid and mucus, was in need of a scrub down of her own and for that reason couldn’t stay on Catra’s chest where she wanted her  _ forever _ . Giving her newborn daughter up so Adora could clean her off of anything that might cause infection or inconvenience proved to be the only task more difficult than giving birth to her.

As Adora delicately lifted the newborn from her, Catra noticed the warmth dissipate from her chest and was quick to experience an almost desperate withdrawal. It was like a part of her own self was leaving her, and her fingers curled into fists underneath her and teeth bit into her tongue to keep her big mouth from protesting the separation. Craving wholeness, genuine completion, was a common theme of Catra’s worst years; it tracked that after almost ten months of having this piece of her heart so close- physically  _ and  _ emotionally- she’d be bound to feel some sort of void once there was distance. 

That thought embittered her. Emptiness was not a state of being Catra was in any mood to get sucked back into, nor drag the two people she loved most in with her. 

So Catra struggled in silence over to the makeshift floor bed to the best of her hampered abilities. Her baby’s glass shattering screaming started up again even as Adora whispered encouragement to her, trying to coax the baby into calmness as Adora held her above a steel tub full of warm water and Perfuma wiped her off with one of the only remaining clean towels before moving on to clear her nose and ears with a nasal aspirator. Catra must’ve been too out of it to notice when or how the impromptu bathtub showed up in their impromptu birthing suit. All she wanted, all Catra focused on, was Adora and their daughter coming back to her.

_ “Unless you have something better in mind,”  _ was Catra’s dazed response to Adora’s request about their baby’s name. A certain tension had melted from her shoulders now that her daughter was safe and sound back in her arms; she’d be robbed of that relaxation once the more than inquisitive newborn discovered the feature most incentivizing on her exposed chest. But in the moment, Catra was lost in cataloging each and every feature her daughter’s first bath had revealed to care about the possibility that Adora hit the jackpot of names on her way back here.

_ “Should she hear her full name or nickname first?”  _

That question grabbed Catra’s attention and she made a show of narrowing her eyes in disbelief at her wife, trying desperately to ignore the way her heart became too big for her body when Adora reached out for her daughter and their daughter latched onto her finger without any hesitation.

_ “Why would we start with her  _ nickname _ , Adora?”  _ her laughed morphed into a yawn.

Adora shrugged as she curled up against Catra. She was careful never to lose contact with their daughter, not even when Catra let her body melt into Adora’s warmth without thinking. 

_ “I just wanted you to have options!”  _ answered Adora. Catra could hear the unspoken  _ “And I don’t want to overwhelm you right now,”  _ lingering in her voice and she found herself swallowing a lump in her throat. 

_ “You sure it has nothing to do with me picking her actual name and you picking her nickname?”  _ Yes, it was technically teasing- and really, what could one expect from the two of them thrown into the same softness of a dream they’d both believed they’d never get to have? It was also a reassurance for the worry wart that was her wife. Adora knew her better than Catra knew herself; if Catra still had the energy to be a smartass, it meant Adora didn’t have to step in and try to take on the vulnerable and the fragile and the  _ newness  _ of this all from her because it was suddenly too much. 

_ “Catra.”  _

_ “Adora.”  _ Catra shot back, somehow managing a shiteating grin despite the butterflies in her stomach and the warmth spreading through her entire body. Then slowly, the grin faded from her expression, a realization dawning on both of them at the same time as their gazes fell from each other to their infant daughter. To the one name that hadn’t yet been said. 

Catra would be lying if she said her voice didn’t break that first time.

_ “Hi… Aurora.” _

This name- her daughter’s name- Catra had found on a scroll stuffed away among the stacks upon stacks of Adora’s research. Unlike the vast majority of her other tomes, textbooks, and manuscripts, this particular list of names hadn’t been underlined or circled or annotated with the fury of a madwoman. Catra made some remark about its lack of Adora to her wife only to learn Adora brought it home weeks before but ended up forgetting about it soon after she found Catra crying on the kitchen floor, reduced to emotional rubble by the resurgence of her Shadow Weaver’s Traumatic Death themed nightmares. Hearing that was one sobering slap to the face; eager to leave the shame of that memory behind, Catra had buried herself in the list of popular baby names, circa pre-First Ones invasion, hoping to chase away the heat burning underneath the skin of her face. 

At twenty eight weeks pregnant Catra and Adora were finding themselves  _ still  _ without a name for their daughter they agreed worked. Both she and Adora knew they wanted a name that was meaningful- a name that would not only carry significance to them as mothers but to signal her daughter she was loved beyond reason. Friends joked that their daughter should be named in their likeness. Mara and Serenia and other names of Etherian rebels and heroes were thrown around. But Adora kept saying she wanted a name that was new. A name that was a blank slate and didn’t carry any preconceived histories with it. Not like Catra could argue with that when she agreed one hundred percent. 

Still, their search to find a  _ new  _ name that was the perfect fit was starting to feel futile. Even with plenty of names to choose from or even to put their own spin on, Catra and Adora were either needlessly picky or were impossible to satisfy. Both, probably. Or Catra assumed so until she found the name Aurora close to the end of the list on a scroll they’d both disregarded altogether.

Catra was drawn to the name from the second she found it in a way that was missing from any other possible choices. Vested as she was in her belief this pull was because of the  _ meaning  _ of the name, Catra was not expecting her wife to raise her eyebrow after she slid the scroll across the table to her and ask “You want a name that sounds almost  _ exactly  _ like my name? Does that mean you want to name her after me?” in response to Catra’s simple question of “Hey, what about this one?”

It did not help her cause when she protested.

Either the flattery-  _ completely accidental  _ flattery- or the meaning of the name moved Adora. She was quick to agree to Aurora, a move more surprising than Catra finding a name she could actually stomach, even when Catra asked her in a semi defeated tone, “You don’t think that’s going to be confusing?” 

Giving her a nickname right off the bat was Adora’s solution to keeping Catra’s chosen name without it being  _ too  _ on the nose. Their pick- or picks-  _ felt  _ right and what else really mattered when it came to a name? And honestly, it was better than starting over so late in the game. Both Catra and Adora could both rest easy at night knowing that they hadn't botched their first decision together as moms by putting it off or beating the choice to death. 

Aurora. She was real, not just some far fetched figment of Catra’s glutton for punishment. And she was here. Finally.

That was still the  _ first  _ time since her lucky find of the scroll Catra had ever said her choice for her daughter’s name out loud, right there as the baby parted her lips and curled her fingers, a barely audible noise escaping her. As the name left her mouth for that very first time, the sound of it rang in Catra’s ears and she noticed Adora’s arms tightening around her shoulders. So she was feeling it too, huh? That nervous apprehension that lived behind their daughter’s name for so long now shattered by the simple act of saying it.

Between their mutual wishes for privacy during Catra’s pregnancy and the worry that at any second they decided to enjoy this for what it was, everything that could go wrong  _ would  _ go wrong, Catra and Adora treated their daughter’s name as if it was holy. Never was it spoken after it was chosen and modified into her nickname. Neither of them took part in the ancient Etherian tradition of announcing their daughter’s name either and Swift Wind swore on his sacred bond with She Ra to absolute silence. Terms of endearment worked for the time being; “kiddo” and “kitten” were nothing if not masks to their real fears of getting too attached to something that was always one step short of  _ fleeting.  _ Or just their joint worries that came with being new moms after almost a lifetime of trauma.

But now Catra could recognize this moment for what it was worth: a clean slate. A chance to do things differently. Better. It was all in Aurora’s name.

Aurora let out another faint squeak, her eyelashes fluttering, earning her a mewl of worry from Melog. Adora laughed as Melog licked Aurora's tiny chubby cheek, “I think she likes it. But Melog might take some convincing.”

In lieu of a coherent response she probably wasn’t even capable of, Catra just turned her gaze back to Aurora. She could say honest to Eternia that there was a slim chance she was never not going to marvel at the sight of her daughter’s face every time she laid eyes on her. Because  _ holy First Ones-  _ weren’t newborns supposed to be ugly little aliens made of squishy flesh when they first arrived? ‘Cause Catra and Adora’s daughter was anything  _ but. _

Catra could  _ not  _ stress this enough-  _ Aurora was perfect _ . And not in that “every parent thinks their kid is the center of the universe” way, but in the “anyone who has eyes would agree." 

Covered in a peach fuzz the color of light gold, Aurora had a mop of strawberry blonde hair on her head that hid the tiny ears folded up against her head. She had the beginning of translucent claws on her ten fingers and ten toes that Catra knew she and Adora were going to be paying for the rest of Aurora’s infancy and childhood. Her tiny arms were marked with a trinity of soft stripes. They’d only seen Aurora’s eyes once; she opened them for a split second in response to Adora’s voice and apology for putting a diaper on her, but Catra can’t stop reliving that moment. One look and Catra knew she’d never seen that color blue of Aurora’s eyes  _ in her entire life. _ But she can get used to seeing it every single day.

_ I don’t know what’s more surprising, that I survived giving birth and didn’t royally fuck it up, or that you’re the most perfect thing in the universe and you came from us, from me.  _

Catra bites her quivering lip. What, is she going to ruin this too by crying? She brings Aurora closer to her, always sure to keep the weight of her head supported, and chalks up to the length of labor and oh right- hormones.

Behind her, Adora shifts her legs and twists her arms, trying to get comfortable on the hard surface that is the office floor.  _ I should’ve tried to make the cot work,  _ Catra thinks as her wife’s strained movements jostle her and the baby. It’s the fourth or fifth time Adora’s moved in the last five minutes. She’s restless as their newborn, Catra can tell that much and she can’t blame her. After an entire day of fighting the Surge in She Ra’s form only to have a mad dash back to the Command Center to be here on time and help Perfuma with the birth, Adora is nothing short of exhausted. She’s sporting dark circles under her eyes that rival Catra’s. And as slick as she thinks she is being, Catra’s ears flick each and every time Adora tries to stifle a yawn.

What a waste of energy it would be to try and argue with Adora to go get some well earned rest. Nor would it be fair of Adora to ask her to leave for the sake of taking care of herself; no, Catra knows Adora better than that. She knows better than to pick a battle  _ like that _ . Adora wants this- to be here and with their daughter- with want that’s just as deafening as Catra’s. And… and Catra’s glad that this is where Adora has chosen to be. Catra needs Adora just as much as Adora needs her, needs the both of them. 

“Do you want to hold her again?” Catra’s voice is soft as she looks back at her wife. Remembering that Adora is there supporting her, remembering what she had to do to get back here, remembering that  _ because of Adora,  _ Catra’s not alone here in this office or anywhere else in the world- it breaks the dam of Catra’s unbridled, hormone fueled emotions. Tears well up before Catra can hurry and plug the dam back up.

“Why?” Eyes going wide with concern, Adora straightens up, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Yet even as Catra tries in vain to reassure her, she’s handing their swaddled daughter over to Adora’s waiting arms. Adora is without hesitation when she raises the baby closer- in fact she looks a little  _ too  _ happy to be holding her again. She whispers a quiet hello and Catra is forced to turn away, pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes.

So yeah- this isn’t normal for her. Catra is used to, and definitely more comfortable, with her usual emotional experiences. The ones that are more near spontaneous combustion than they are feelings. Spilling over like this brings with it the heat of shame and  _ embarrassment _ . It ruins- obliterates- the moment and rips Catra right out of the present. Nothing she’s in any state to deal with.

And of course Adora reads that thought loud and clear. “You know Hertha said it was perfectly normal for you to be emotional after labor.” There’s another soft peep from Aurora’s bundle and Catra catches as a little hand pokes out, fingers clawing into Adora’s shirt.

Catra can’t help but roll her eyes at that in spite of the tears rolling down her cheeks.  _ Hertha wasn’t here for my labor- what does she even know about what’s  _ perfectly normal  _ after?  _

Needless to say Catra was an unholy and incoherent  _ mess  _ after twenty three hours of brutal contractions so strong they changed the shape of her body and even stronger denial. It followed that there wasn’t much Catra recalled after Adora burst into the room- except the rise of vicious guilt that came from hearing her wife’s panicked voice. And then Adora had to go on  _ apologizing  _ for not being there, over and over and over, saying she loved her like no one else in the entire universe mattered. Nothing else in the universe did matter to Adora, if her pleading, poignant tone was anything to go by.

How was Catra expected to handle that? How was Catra supposed to handle  _ any of it?  _ The consistent waves of pain had drained her every resolve- until Adora showed up and knocked the door of the office down. The endgame was basically impossible- until Adora was holding her. Catra was dead set on keeping her apology for not saying anything about being in childbirth behind closed doors that would only open once they made it to the aftermath- until Adora’s voice was in the ear and she was listening to her wife take the blame for something that was  _ so far  _ from her fault. Catra couldn’t take that for another fucking second and be expected to go on. 

It was like the second she registered Adora had actually made it back to her she just  _ broke _ .

Catra didn’t know what to expect when she cut Adora’s rambling apology off with one of her own. Definitely not absolvement. But she didn’t have the time or the energy to focus on anything but Adora’s recycled encouragement and it was only when She Ra’s magic replenished her next to nothing strength to Catra even remember  _ what  _ she was supposed to be doing. Once Catra did remember though, so did her body, and the urge so unmistakable it was almost a primal need to start pushing followed the second she broke through her pain induced delirium.

It was scary just how  _ ready  _ her body had been to end it. Catra welcomed the intincing rush of fear all the same, as if she’d been depending on it to pull her through when the previous promises of her body were made to be hollow. As long as it meant getting to the other side to meet her daughter, Catra could withstand the tremor of fear seizing her even when it made her out to be small, helpless, dependent. There was a kind of dignity in surrendering to feeling. Catra knew that better than anyone.

Catra’s eyes fall closed for a brief second and when she strains to open them, she is again met with the sight of Adora holding their daughter. It’s definitely not a sight for sore eyes. Rather, an image stolen from a dream. She’s let Aurora, who now must be wide awake after the transfer from one chest to another, latch onto her finger and Catra’s ear twitch at the quiet sound of fussing. But Adora reacts, rocking the bundle and whispering reassurement, like soothing their infant daughter comes as natural to her as a right hook.

_ I knew she’d be ready for this,  _ Catra thinks to herself because there’s no point in butting in on this moment between mother and daughter since she’ll have plenty of opportunities to remind Adora later how right she was,  _ even if she thought she wouldn’t be, right up until the end. _

Without Adora in the last hours, Catra would have- actually, Catra  _ does not  _ want to think about how events might’ve unfolded differently. So Catra can give, willingly, Adora that little freak out she had right before it was time to push. Because it wasn’t on Adora that Glimmer hadn’t produced their midwife. It wasn’t on her that this was happening at the Command Center, raising Catra’s risk of complication exponentially. It wasn’t Adora’s body telling them they were out of time, that this was happening  _ now.  _

_ “You don’t- you don’t have anything to be sorry for. We didn’t have any control over when this day would happen, so how could this be your fault?” _

They really were going to have to stop using each other’s words against each other. For sanity purposes. 

Adora surrendered- with dignity. Catra would forever be honored by that simple act that spoke the volume of their trust. Catra would  _ forever  _ be in debt to Adora for stepping up to the plate and making sure their daughter entered the world as safely as humanly possible in the context of their environment. 

For all that Catra  _ did not  _ remember about those last hours, she’d always remember hearing those first screams, her daughter’s first breaths. Because  _ Adora  _ carried Catra across the threshold. Catra would never forget the explosion of warmth and love that erupted within her when Aurora was laid across her chest, thrusting her limbs against the loose binding of an improvised bath towel of a blanket. Because Adora brought her to Catra.

_ Adora and Perfuma did all the work. Why should I pay Hertha full price for ditching me when her services mattered the most?  _

Catra grumbles, trying to shift her weight against the pillows keeping her back up right. A strike of soreness rips through the apex of her hips and into her tired abdomen; a stark reminder she  _ will  _ be paying for the last twenty three hours for mmm, the next three weeks. Hertha, once she bothered to show up, approved of her stubborn methods to labor standing since it had protected Catra against a good deal of tearing or countless other kinds of abrasions, making some comment about how that brought her recovery down from six weeks to about twenty one days- but that was about the  _ only  _ part of the situation the Erelandian midwife approved of. __

An hour,  _ a full hour,  _ passed between Aurora’s arrival and Hertha’s grand entrance. Not only had Catra left the third and final stage of labor without her midwife, but by some miracle she’d also managed to feed Aurora for the first time. With Adora’s nagging and pestering and countless demonstrations  _ (“I’ve got it, Adora. I  _ read  _ the books to you know.” “Then why did you say it wasn’t working, Catra?”“ _ Why  _ are your hands so cold?!”)  _ while their baby, furious with hunger, took her new lungs for a spin. The door came flying open the second Catra rocked Aurora to sleep- after letting Adora burp her and then infruiate her once again as she fastened a diaper to her little bum.

“ _ I found her! I found her, Adora! She was at another clinic in Salineas assisting with another birth all along!”  _ Glimmer, having barged through the door, pointed as Hertha followed behind her. The Queen perked up once she took in the relaxed aura of the room- the exact opposite of what she was expecting. _ “Aw, is that her? Wait- you  _ had  _ the baby? I thought you needed well, her!” _

Hertha, a short, muscular woman in her late thirties that hailed from both Mystacore and Erelandia due to a mixed parentage that made for the perfect midwife, grunted before shoving Glimmer out of the way. She thrust her bag down at Adora’s lap and began rifling through it without a word.

_ “Apparently not,”  _ Catra just scowled, gesturing with her chin to a certain sleeping Flower Princess dozing soundly in the corner. As aware that Catra was that they should send Perfuma home to  _ her  _ wife and kid- what more could she do after delivering a baby  _ and  _ sticking around to clean up?- there was little comfort behind the idea of waking her up to boss the poor woman around some more.

Glimmer’s face fell.  _ “Oh. Uh, well I’m guess I’m glad everything worked out! She’s so beautiful, you guys! Are you  _ finally  _ gonna tell us what her name is?” _

_ “You!”  _ Hertha barked back at Glimmer as if their statuses were reversed,  _ “Take Catra and get her cleaned up. Check her for accelerated loss of blood.”  _

_ “What’s  _ accelerated  _ loss of blood supposed to mean?”  _ the Queen asked, but she wouldn’t get an answer.

_ “Adora, you take the baby and come with me.” _

_ “Wait, what?!” _

Yeah, like Catra was about to give her newborn daughter up without a fight. Whatever protective urges had possessed her  _ before  _ the baby was born were now revving at full throttle; Catra wasn’t about to hand Aurora off to someone who  _ wasn’t  _ her mother to be poked and prodded like she was one of Entrapta’s robots without Catra at least there to chaperone. Melog jumped for their resting place against Catra’s legs to stand in front of the trio and it was several convoluted minutes of arguing and assuring before Catra let Adora walk away with their daughter in her arms. 

_ “Was telling Adora she could use  _ force  _ against your midwife if she stepped out of line with your baby really necessary, Catra?” _

_ “Just take me to the showers, Sparkles.”  _

While Adora stayed with their daughter to see as she was weighed, measured, and examined for postnatal issues, Glimmer dragged Catra down to the first floor of the embassy where one of several restrooms hid a slim, tiled stall with a faucet hanging above its exposed square footage. Code mandated that any structure belonging to multiple kingdoms have a shower on hand for safety reasons; since its inception the shower had only been used once- when an unfortunate soldier shadowing Entrapta was doused in one of her chemical concoction of nightmares. As unkind of a place that the embassy was to give birth in, the shower produced a steady enough stream of hot water and steam for Catra to distract herself from greedy worry thoughts about being away from her newborn baby.

Glimmer handed her a pressed nightgown and a set of undergarments after Catra spent a good five minutes trying to towel herself dry. Throwing her mane up in a second towel, Catra tried not to think about where Glimmer got her hands on another pair of clothes. Hertha, maybe. Whatever, they were clean and prying into their origins just meant wasting _ more time _ that could be used getting her back upstairs.

_ "Gonna miss you when we’re trying to put the planet back together. That might’ve been our nastiest Surge in the history of our really nasty Surges. Ugh, getting the kingdoms back together is going to be a  _ bitch  _ without your iron fist- I mean, your expertise of course.”  _ Glimmer threw away the compliment as they made it to the stair landing. Together, without Melog padding right behind to catch Catra in case her knees crumbled, they walked through a now empty and quiet command center.

_ “I’ll remember you guys are thinking about me when my newborn is keeping me awake, 24/7.”  _ Catra scoffed before trying to add in reassurance,  _ “Bow knows what to do.” _

_ “Bow knows what to  _ try.” Glimmer shot back before giggling,  _ “My husband’s great at a lot of things but being bossy is… not always one of them.” _

_ “Yeah, you’re the one who’s shrill and bossy.” _

_ “On second thought, I don’t think I’m going to miss you.” _

Catra found herself laughing despite the tenderness blossoming like bruises all over her body- the beginnings of her body coming back together after being torn apart. From having definitely more experience than a person should have in putting themselves back together after being ripped apart- boy, this was going to a fun one. How ironic it was that she’d be bouncing back from labor as the Etheria bounced back from this Surge. 

When they arrived back at the office, slowed down after a few awkward minutes of Catra leaning on the wall and clutching her abdomen as Glimmer rethought out loud the idea of having children, they were met with a glowing Adora and a soundly sleeping infant. 

_ “Look!”  _ Adora’s face was bright with pride as she handed their baby, now wrapped tightly in one of Hertha’s spare blankets, back to Catra, _ “I swaddled her! Oh, and she’s perfectly healthy according to Hertha, thank the stars.” _

Perfuma and her supplies had vanished and Glimmer soon followed her lead; Catra tried not to kick herself for not thanking them  _ like a good friend _ when she had the chance, but it’s not like Hertha gave her much room to think about when she would actually get to express her gratitude as she was chewing her out for being “reckless and irresponsible” towards her body. Gee, what was Catra not? 

After force feeding Catra chunks of food like material that tasted vaguely of Horde ration bars and watching her without blinking as she sipped from a mug of the midwife’s herbal remedies in what could only insultingly be called tea, Hertha packed up supplies back into her bag and announced she was leaving also.

_ “Wait, already?”  _

Catra was not proud of the panic in her voice. Her jolted reaction to the realization that the midwife leaving meant she and Adora were about to  _ be on their own with a newborn  _ caused Aurora to begin fussing again and Catra cursed herself inwardly and emphatically. See, this is what she was afraid of. Messing up. And with their expert walking out the door, her chances of messing up being a mom were bound to skyrocket. The second Hertha left was the second their trial run as parents was over- and the real work began. 

Of course the look on Hertha’s face was far from sympathetic, more a realistic, “Mhmm, good luck.” Thank Etheria Adora’s hands were on Catra’s shoulders, thumbs pressing a grounding sense of pressure into her back, or it would’ve been that much worse of a blow.  _ “She needs to be fed,”  _ was the last piece of wisdom Hertha spared before leaving them to Aurora’s rising cries. Just the sound of her frustration set all of Catra’s fur on end as if she’d been blasted with charged static.

_ At least that attempt to feed her went better… a little. _

“There,” Adora’s gentle voice reminds Catra of the present. The present that, for once, is a relief and an actual pleasure to be in. Running her knuckle down their daughter’s cheek, Adora keeps up her consoling until the little squeaks of protest fade away, “You’re okay. Yeah, it’s okay… you’re okay. I love you.”

Catra scoffs through the smile on her face. It’s the one phrase Adora seems incapable of  _ not  _ saying. Every time she’s holding Aurora, every time either of them manage to get Aurora to stop screeching, every time Aurora’s awake yet keeping her eyes shut and making little noises Catra’s dying to memorize until she understands them all. “I love you,” “We love you,” “You’re loved so much, kitten”; it’s as if Adora is determined to make sure that that is the  _ first  _ thing their daughter understands about the world, that she is loved- no matter what.

Hearing her wife say it to their daughter now  _ does  _ something to Catra. It squeezes her heart and liquifies her lungs and throws her back to the sound of sobbing in dark, shadowed corners hoping against all hope, that instead of being found she could disappear from the world and no longer have to wonder what was so wrong about her that made it so no one could love her?

_ No.  _ Catra closes her eyes and lets another round of hot tears roll down her cheeks, cursing her postpartum hormones for ruining yet another moment,  _ it’s going to be different this time around. It  _ is  _ different this time around. I love her, okay? I love her and not being great at breast feeding or being scared out of my mind every time she starts crying isn’t going to change that. I love her and that is going to be  _ enough…  _ right?  _

When Adora speaks next, she’s speaking to her with a tone of forethought Catra knows so well,“We need to make a plan for getting home. The Surge spared the Woods for the most part but I have no idea where Swift Wind is or if you're in any shape to ride him. I also have no idea if you ride a horse with a baby that’s a day old, so.”

“Are we going to be any good at this?”

The question just falls out of Catra’s mouth, as if nothing she could have done or tried would’ve stopped her from asking it. Adora’s face is blank for a second before her nose scrunches in confusion. Aurora is gripping her finger once again.

“I- I don’t understand.”

Catra hears herself sighing, “I mean, are we going to be okay at  _ this, _ ” she gestures to the infant between them, “Was going into labor just one big omen that we’re going to be terrible moms and that we can’t ever tear ourselves away from our dumb destinies? We were separated  _ all  _ day, Adora, and that alone I couldn’t handle. What if… what if it’s  _ always  _ going to be like this?”

“Catra,” Adora’s jaw drops, “are you serious? You handled a  _ planet wide emergency  _ while giving birth. If anything, that proves you’re going to be-  _ we’re  _ going to be fine. If you can handle that, I think you can handle balancing work and parenting.”

The smile on her face is stunning and momentarily, distracting from Catra’s hormone fueled whirlwind of emotions. Trying to focus on the pride in Adora’s expression and  _ only  _ the pride in Adora’s expression, she misses when her ears twitch and flatten at the sound of soft, almost subdued cooing. But her wife doesn’t.

Adora’s shifting before Catra understands her intentions, placing their daughter back in her arms. Catra is more than cooperative as she lets Aurora melt against her chest and settle down; the baby is more heat than she is weight, but Catra is grateful to have the familiar pressure back on her body. Relieved, actually. 

It’s hard to argue against Adora’s point when the living embodiment of her proof is falling asleep against Catra’s skin.

“Catra,” Adora says her name in a way that spreads a different kind of warmth through her, “You did this. The world was falling apart and you stepped up to help people because that’s just the kind of person you are. You did more than anyone could’ve asked from you, and- and your probably saved lives. You  _ gave  _ life, Catra. And I can’t wait until she’s old enough to ask about the day she was born so we can tell her this story and I can brag about how amazing and strong you were.”

Adora’s blue eyes catch her split ones as she finishes and in them is a look Catra can’t deny.

It’s cliche and sappy, as expected- but it’s almost more than Catra can handle. Actually, it  _ is  _ more than Catra can handle. Leave it to Adora to not care that she’d just given birth and is in no state to handle the most genuine of compliments, the most sincere expression of her love, at this point in time or maybe ever again. Well- two can play at that game.

Blinking away traitorous tears, Catra responds, “You better not leave out the part where  _ you  _ did the actual lifesaving, you know,  _ as  _ She Ra. If you don’t tell her about all the people you saved because you're humble and noble or whatever,  _ I  _ will. Can’t wait to tell her about what a badass you are in general.”

She may have whispered the last words in a dangerously close fashion to her “not because I  _ like  _ you’s” of old that earns her an unamused stare from a certain alien cat, but Adora still laughs and takes Catra by the chin, kissing her softly and sweetly.

And then, for the first time, their public display of affection is interrupted when Aurora digs her claws into Catra’s clavicle with just a little too much pressure. Yelping and breaking away from her wife to tear the little devious hand from her skin, Catra just has to roll her eyes at the way Adora bursts into laughter and Melog lets out a yowl to join her.

Catra is just about to fire back some scathing retort about how they won’t be laughing when Aurora turns  _ them  _ into scratching posts only to be stopped by a well timed  _ creak!  _ of the door. Without thinking, Catra brings her daughter closer to her chest. A voice she’s beyond surprised has not come breaking down the door in the last couple of hours asks, gleeful to the point of concern, “So? How we doing?”

The heads of Bright Moon’s highest sitting dorks- sorry, Queen and King peak into the room, their eyes going wide with a comedic sparkle. Followed by a gaggle of Princesses and a Sea Hawk. Catra can’t help her smile as she notices Scorpia, holding a refreshed looking Perfuma, wipe tears from her eyes.

“I tried explaining that you guys might want privacy, but unfortunately, Princesses do not work that way,” Glimmer grimaces before breaking down and squealing, “She’s  _ so  _ precious! Look at her, Bow! I told you, didn’t I?”

“Glimmer, you didn’t tell us our niece was  _ this  _ precious!”

Netossa, Spinerella, and Sea Hawk nod, buzzing in agreement and Catra spots a smile betraying Mermista’s usually bored exterior. Frosta, on the other, narrows her eyes in suspicion as if she can’t figure out if the baby in Catra’s arms is a parasitic, disease ridden alien invader from an enemy planet or not. 

“And clean.” the Ice Princess comments after a solid ten seconds of doubtful staring.

“Yeah, sorry she’s not covered in afterbirth like you wanted.” Catra can’t help it- even if Frosta did help her in the eleventh hour of the crisis that was giving birth, teasing is just  _ too  _ easy.

And not just for her.

“We would’ve saved you some if we knew you wanted any,” Adora says, laying feigned innocence on thick and Catra snorts as Frosta gags.

“Oh, I am  _ so  _ not having kids!”

“I am crying so  _ hard  _ right now, you guys.” Scorpia, sparing them all from having to watch Frosta vomit five feet away from their newborn, struggles to speak through her waterworks.

Perfuma rubs her back, “Sorry, she’s just really emotional. But happy! She’s very happy Ren will be getting a cousin to play with soon!”

Scorpia makes a garbled noise that Catra and Adora take as affirmation.

“How did it go back in the Village? Did you have any trouble with the Black Garnet?” asks Adora. Catra can hear some strained guilt in her tone; they’re going to have to talk about that later.

“Oh you know,” Netossa exchanges a look with her wife before continuing, “Usual story. I get wiped out on Hoverbike, Spinny eats it after being thrown from her skiff ‘cause she drove into a pole that was right in front of her.”

“I did not  _ eat it,  _ darling. My face didn’t even hit the ground.”

“The rest of you did.” 

“Netossa and Spinerella’s unhealthy obsession with competing aside,” Entrapta, sticking her head through the crowded tries picking up where the wives leave off- only to incur their wrathful opinions without warning.

“It isn’t ‘unhealthy!’”

“Do you not know what romance is? What we have is romance.”

“It’s not  _ not  _ unhealthy.”

“... _ Anyways,  _ with assistance from Catra’s troops we were to make record time in getting Scorpia back to the Black Garnet. Three hours, forty one minutes, and 18 seconds according to Emily’s recordings!”

Catra feels Adora wince.

“Then it was just a one-on-one battle with the ol’ girl for about forty five or so minutes.” Another wince. “And once we secured the Black Garnet the Surge left the kingdom and we were in the clear. Except for the rain.” Scorpia finishes, her face falling.

“Lots and lots of rain.” adds Netossa. “And Spinny wouldn’t dry me until I admitted  _ she  _ won the race-”

“Because I did.”

“-when she very much  _ did  _ not.”

“You both sustained multiple injuries, how is that winning?” Entrapta looks between them.

“We got back about an hour ago.” Spinerella, exchanging a smile with Netossa, goes back to filling the office’s little group in on the rest of the story.

“Yeah, we’ve just been in the meeting room down stairs killing time. Wrong Hordak brought up Ren and Kai and Frosta managed to find some food, so now it’s just been a matter of convincing Sea Hawk  _ not  _ to sing shanties that will wake our sleeping kids up until Glimmer broke down and let us come see you,” explains Mermista. 

“My sea shanties are a great way of passing time, how could you say that my dearest?”

“Yeah, a great way of  _ being loud.” _

In her arms, Aurora makes a tiny sound, her lips opening and closing as her fingers make a tiny fist. Catra is shielding her daughter’s tiny ears from the onslaught of noise and excitement their friends have brought with them into the room by popping the blanket nearest to her neck up but the Princess Alliance is by no means done encroaching on their space. Running her hand down Aurora’s little head for a little extra protection and comfort from the unfamiliar, Catra smirks down at her daughter.

_ Believe it or not, this is your family, kiddo. They and your mom and Melog- they’re the reason you are here and I get to have you. _

Eventually, Catra will have the time and the space and the wits about her to lay her daughter down and dazzle her silly with the details of the characters in this uncanny story- but for now that time will have to wait. What’s important is that Catra addresses the crowd with thank yous that just cannot wait any longer. Catra can’t let Bow or Glimmer or Perfuma get away again thinking they’d performed some ordinary, run of the mill tasks in her eyes. Of course, her brilliant wife just has to be  _ one step _ ahead of her at all times. 

Show off.

“Thank you guys,” Adora says, a sincerity to her words that shatters the carefree atmosphere that their friends have created out of pure exhaustion, “For taking on the Black Garnet so that I could get back here and be with them.” 

“Of course, Adora!” Spinerella is prompt to answer, “We wouldn’t have you miss this, end of the world or not.” 

“We told you, we got your back.” Taking her own wife’s hand, Netossa winks in their direction as Adora turns in the direction of a different pair of wives.

“And Perfuma, I’m sorry I was so short with you. I was freaking out,” Catra squeezes Adora’s hand before her expression of gratitude can turn into a guilt ridden rant, “but there really is no excuse.  _ Thank you _ for delivering our daughter.”

“Well, it’s just one more thing you can make up to me- since you still owe me for destroying the Heart Blossom yesterday.” the Flower Princess, beaming a deep ink in response Adora’s earnesty, waves her off with an awkward giggle.

Catra turns to her wife, mouth gaping, “You destroyed the  _ Heart Blossom _ ?”

“It was fine! It was just the tree! The- the Runestone stayed intact- ugh, I’ll tell you about it later!” 

Catra makes a face that has no meaning to anyone but her wife. Then, with as much dignity as her aching body can muster in the moment, she realizes it’s  _ her  _ turn. 

“Thank you Perfuma, I really don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”  _ I would’ve given birth in the bathroom next door, probably.  _ “And thanks, Glimmer for talking me down and- and organizing the office.”

The Queen nods as she wipes a tear from her eye, Bow patting her back.

“And thank you Bow for doing my job  _ on top of yours _ so I could give birth during the Surge. And Frosta and Mermista and Sea Hawk- thanks for keeping me sane. All of you. You helped me do this.” Catra ends by maneuvering her arms so the crowd can so Aurora’s calm, serene, and sleeping face. There are a couple of quiet, revenant gasps Catra has to convince herself not to let go to her head. She’s always had the ability to stun a group of people into silence with the fury of her words alone- but this might be the best way she’s ever shut up a bunch of people.

“Oh!” Adora jumps all of a sudden. Her gaze turns to the other side of Catra. “And Melog! Thank you, Melog, for coming to get me and getting me here. You saved the day, seriously.”

The alien cat shakes out their mane and purrs before settling their head on Catra’s knee to soaking in Adora’s added ear scratches to her verbal praise. Adora’s laugh fills the room as she promises more where that came from, Melog’s crystalline eyes catching Catra’s line of sight, their tail sweeping left to right. 

_T_ _ hank you.  _ She tells her companion.  _ And… and you were right. _

It’s all that needs to pass between the two of them. 

Melog mews, head bumping baby Aurora’s, when Adora remembers there is still a key family member missing from this family portrait. “Hey, does anyone know where Swift Wind is? He’s going to be upset he missed this, he was really,  _ really  _ excited.”

Only when Catra catches Adora biting her lip does she realize she’s doing the same. Entrapta comes to their aid, stepping out in front of everyone else.

“Oh yes! Bird horse last reported in at 0200 hours near Thaymor. He said there was a family that was trapped in their home by an earthquake and after he helped them escape their destroyed domicile, he agreed to stay with them until Emily and a small squadron of Bright Moon soldiers came to relieve him. He says hi to you guys and your infant by the way!” the Princess of Dryl explains, her purple pigtails acting out each of her gestures and ending in a wave.

A look passes between Catra and Adora.

“Guess we’re gonna have to tell her about Swifty, too.”

“She’ll probably think his telling of the story is more fun, anyway.” shrugs Adora, her laughter joining that of her wife’s.

“So uh, now that’s she’s, you know, here,” Bow starts up and his eyes have begun to sparkle with excitement again, “How about that name, huh?” 

“He’s been guessing again and driving the rest of us  _ crazy, _ ” groans Mermista, her head falling back.

Another knowing glance exchanged. Another beat passes. Catra silently challenges Adora as Adora does the same and they each fight the growing smile on their faces until-

“Aurora.” announces Catra, shifting the small bundle of heat in her arms.

“It means ‘new beginning,’” Adora, her tone delicate yet lacking no significance, tells them.

_ And now it’s out for everyone to know. _

There is, as expected, an immediate chorus of “awe’s” and a couple of “wow’s” Catra had not been expecting but nevertheless, doesn’t protest before Mermista’s eyes narrow and Catra can’t help but brace against what the look begets. 

_ Here it comes. _

“Wait,” she begins, “Aurora sounds a  _ lot  _ like-”

“Adora, _I know.”_ scoffs Catra, not exactly reveling in the way her wife is now giggling. Glimmer- being the kind and gentle friend she is- straight up bursts out cackling in response to this revelation, as if the idea that Catra accidentally naming her baby after Adora (she’s her _wife_ and ten years ago quite literally saved Catra from dying at the hands of a fascist dictator- would that really have been so weird to name her after Adora?!) was made ten times funnier after pulling an allnighter.

“We’re calling her Rory.” Adora decides to jump in and spare Catra any further embarrassment, “You know, to avoid confusion.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Rory! You know, I do find that quite adorable. That’s a fearless sailor’s name right there.”

“Hi, Ren’s new cousin Rory! We can’t wait to introduce you two! Oh, I think I’m going to cry again.” Scorpia waves her pincers in front of her eyes- but even that’s in vain. Catra can see the tears sparkling in the office light all the way from her place on the floor.

“Speaking of Ren, maybe we should go check on our children and leave you guys some space.” Perfuma, rubbing her wife’s arm, looks around the rest of the group for agreement. She pulls Scorpia towards the open door at a rate Catra can say she  _ finally  _ understands; afterall, she did  _ almost  _ ditch Glimmer back at the showers earlier and Melog would’ve helped, she knew, by giving her a quicker, non invasive ride back up to the second floor.

“A fabulous idea, Princess Perfuma!”

“You just don’t trust Wrong Hordak with your baby, do you?” Netossa narrows her eyes and sends the Perfuma into a defensive stammer that proves the other Princess’s  _ exact  _ point.

Glimmer comes to her rescue. “It’s a good idea,  _ regardless.  _ Let’s go downstairs and let our friends and their _ new baby _ get some rest. Everyone say “bye Adora, bye Catra, bye baby Rory!’ _ ” _

“Bye Adora, bye Catra, bye baby Rory!” echoes their sea of friends. Glimmer’s expression becomes smug as she nods, curtly, in Catra’s direction.

_ Now  _ she’s _ going to be a good mom. _

One by one the Alliance, Catra and Adora’s extended family, file back out the office door, throwing back waves and smiles in addition to their goodbye. Bow and Glimmer are the last to leave; hand in hand, the husband and wife walk out as Bow speaks, his voice breaking, through an onslaught of tears, “It means  _ new beginning,  _ Glimmer! How beautiful is that?” 

“It  _ is  _ beautiful, Bow. But I think maybe you should lie down and rest now.”

“Yeah…that’s probably a good idea.”

With a soft  _ click!  _ the door closes shuts. Once again, their world is as small as the four of them, orbiting around the newest member of the family.

“You were right, Adora.” Catra inhales, lifting Rory up by the head as she shifts her arms and cuddles deeper into the outline of Adora’s body.

Eyebrows shooting up, Adora yawns. “Oh yeah? About what?”

“We’re not alone- not with all of those idiots waiting to beat our door down. So, maybe us being parents won’t be a disaster.”

“Not a  _ total  _ disaster, at least.” agrees Adora. She plants a kiss to the back of Catra’s head and lets out a long sigh as her arm comes around to Catra’s front. Rory sleeps, safe and sound, there on Catra’s chest and under her mothers’ watchful gaze.

For all the hard evidence, all the indicators and facts, that this moment  _ is  _ real- there’s something about it that feels like fiction. Like Catra has been caught sleeping overtime in a Horde bunk, trapped in the past somewhere, dreaming this future as just another terrible, inefficient means of coping. Sounds absurd, but she’s lived absurder.  _ Caused  _ absurder. A shiver of deja vu runs through Catra’s entire body. It feels- 

It’s like-

_ That moment underneath the Heart of Etheria when Adora said she loved me back. First Ones, I thought I was fucking dreaming. Or just dead. _

A black hole- a collapsing, disappointing burned too bright and too fast star. That’s what Catra once compared herself to. Everything in her was volatile, bursting at the seams, and she had a gravity that drew the worst of the worst into her system. Longing that became impulsive rage. Loneliness that broke her apart molecule by molecule. Vengeance in the gaze of one eye, a list of vendettas in the gaze of her other. And so because this residue of violence left within her by corrupted, jealous hands pointed towards no other alternative, Catra believed her destiny was for nothing more than destruction. The end would come and she’d convulse in on herself as each and every one of her atoms imploded, sucking a world that had only been cruel to her and taking it with when she became a rip in the fabric of the universe. A nothingness. And in that nothingness, she would feel relief. Peace.

But then- Adora came back for her, challenged Horde Prime for  _ her _ , and brought her home. The something like salvation Adora brought back to life when she brought Catra back cemented itself in her. She asked Adora to stay and then suddenly, destruction no longer presented itself as her only viable future, merely a route she could choose among an infinite hallway of open doors.

_ “What do you- um, what do you see yourself doing after the war?” _

Scorpia had asked Catra that once. Almost eleven years ago. Catra sensed that black hole in her pulse like a heartbeat; she could only answer she didn’t know. 

Tracing her fingers, lightly- so as not to wake or disturb her, over Rory’s two eyelids, little nose, and tiny lips, Catra purrs.

“I didn’t ever think I’d get this, Adora.”  _ Or anything like this. And definitely not with you. _

“I know, Catra,” comes her wife’s understanding response and Catra catches the warmth in her eyes; she could melt in it, honestly, “Neither did I. But we have it now, and that’s what matters. You deserve to have a family that loves and I know that she is going to love you  _ so much _ , Catra.”

This time, when the tears return to her eyes, Catra doesn’t care.

“You deserve that, too, Adora.” she whispers as she buries her head in the crook of Adora’s neck.

Adora’s grip on her tightens, “I have it, Catra.”

Unbeknownst to them, the sun is peeking just above the horizon. Catra will learn that later. She’s too lost in the here and now to worry, for once, about the future. The plan to get home, the day of feeding and burping and changing and cursing and bickering and trying again- that can  _ definitely  _ wait. Adora has Catra. Catra’s holding Rory. Rory’s got both of them. What more could Catra say  _ really  _ matters beyond what she’s created, right here?

Rory’s eyes flutter open giving Catra her answer. 

This darkest part is now over and dawn is finally calling. 

Life begins- here. 

_ Yeah,  _ Catra thinks,  _ here. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking this journey with me. Thank you for MAKING me take this journey. It’s made me such a stronger writer and I’ve had literally so much fun being able to come into this world every day. 
> 
> I hope you like it. 
> 
> An extra goodie: [here's a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/56a1CuT1cnnFnDyW4t1B3t?si=OtueB9SqQnGdTemmvbIdZg) I made on spotify of songs that go with the fic. A lot of those really angsty ones on there are more to deal with Shadow Weaver being such a bi- I mean, being a bad caretaker and not like, Catra and Adora being mad at each other. 
> 
> Also! [this is the kitten I based Rory off of!](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/351491945924794270/?nic_v2=1a4gZgZpf)
> 
> Fun fact: this Surge was the last one the planet had, ever ;) hit me up if you want more Rory head canons because I’ve had a lot of fun imagining what it was like for her to grow up. A LOT of fun. 
> 
> Thank you again. I love you all so much. Stay safe <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! really, from the bottom of my heart, it means the world. I love to write, and having an audience to have these conversations with is such an important and enjoyable part of the process.
> 
> big, big, big thanks to Tol, Ren, Paula, and anyone who sent me messages telling me to explore this idea. Thank you for helping me get this far.
> 
> If you want to see more of this story, any bit of feedback goes much further than you could imagine. Kudos, comments, subscriptions, all those are welcome X 1,000. That's what me writing the rest of the story really hinges on receiving feedback.
> 
> come say hi! [My She Ra tumblr](https://princessofgayskull.tumblr.com/)


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